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NO  NAME  SERIES. 


“Is  the  Gentleman  Anonymous?  Is  he  a  great  Unknown?” 

Daniel  Deronda. 


THE 


Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak. 


LLy, 


BOSTON: 

ROBERTS  BROTHERS. 

i879* 


Copyright , 

By  Roberts  Brothers. 
1879. 


THE 


COLONEL’S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


INTRODUCTION. 

HAVE  no  hero  ;  I  have  no  heroine.  A 
story  without  either  seemed  so  shabby, 
and  incomplete  a  thing  that  I  looked  carefully 
over  my  old  men  and  women,  my  young  men 
and  maidens,  not  omitting  the  small  boys. 

Colonel  St.  John  was  tall  and  handsome, — 
“  a  perfect  specimen  of  a  Southern  gentleman/’ 
his  wife  said.  But,  having  never  met  the  Col¬ 
onel,  I  could  not  make  him  my  hero. 

Mrs.  St.  John  was  handsome,  slender,  and 
languid.  How  she  did  hate  the  North  !  She 
was  not  to  my  fancy,  so  I  would  not  have  her 
for  my  heroine. 

Dear  little  Leslie,  the  Colonel’s  niece,  —  I  had 
half  a  mind  to  choose  her.  But  she  never 
saved  a  life,  and  never  wrote  a  page  for  a  mag¬ 
azine,  not  even  “  Lines  to  E.  S.  L.”  She  never 
attended  lectures,  nor  revelled  in  “the  True, 


6  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


« 

the  Good,  and  the  Beautiful ;  ”  and,  if  the  truth 
must  be  told,  she  spelled  quite  indifferently. 

There  was  Tom  Douglas,  the  Doctors  son, 
who  fell  in  love  with  Leslie.  If  he  had  but 
fallen  in  love  with  Miss  Gertrude  Henderson, 
the  handsome  heiress,  and  followed  her  abroad, 
what  a  hero  and  heroine  they  would  have  been  ! 
In  that  case,  what  descriptions  I  might  have 
given  of  foreign  parts,  —  of  cathedrals  and  of 
palaces  !  I  could  have  made  them  wander  in  the 
grand  old  galleries,  and  talk  about  the  pictures. 
I  should  have  known  exactly  what  to  say ;  for 
haven’t  I  a  pile  of  my  cousin’s  old  guide-books, 
from  which  I  could  extract  the  height  and 
width  of  every  thing,  as  well  as  though  I  had 
taken  measurements  myself  ?  And  Tom  could 
have  made  love  in  Westminster  Abbey  or  the 
Bois  de  Boulogne.  But,  dear  me,  he  fell  in  love 
instead  with  that  foolish,  shiftless  little  Leslie. 

If  I  had  been  satisfied  with  a  good,  noble, 
unselfish  man,  I  might  have  chosen  Pomp  ;  but 
Pomp  was  only  a  colored  man,  a  “  nigger,”  an 
old  slave,  who  clung  through  thick  and  thin 
—  very  thin  —  to  his  master’s  family,  and  got 
nothing  in  return.  Only  the  angels  would  call 
Pomp  a  hero. 

Dr.  Douglas  would  not  do,  of  course  :  there 
was  nothing  romantic  about  the  Doctor.  He 
dosed  the  St.  Johns  among  his  other  patients, 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  7 


and  got  no  return  for  the  little  bills  he  pre¬ 
sented,  —  that  was  all.  “  What  impudence  in 
him  to  send  these  things  !  ”  said  Mrs.  St.  John, 
when  the  Doctors  collector  appeared.  “  How 
these  Northerners  show  their  poor  raising !  ” 

The  Doctors  wife  would  not  answer.  Her 
affairs  were  settled  thirty  years  ago,  when,  in 
white  muslin  and  blue  ribbons,  she  met  the 
young  doctor  at  a  college  commencement.  Be¬ 
sides,  she  spent  her  time  in  seeing  that  her 
Tom  should  not  become  Leslie’s  hero  !  “  Leslie 

is  a  dear,  sweet  little  girl,”  she  would  say,  in 
that  disparaging,  maternal  tone  well  known  to 
eldest  sons  ;  “but  for  a  wife, —  I  pity  the  North¬ 
erner  of  whose  home  she  is  mistress  !  ”  Then 
Tom  would  ask,  in  a  cheerful  tone  of  disinter¬ 
ested  inquiry,  “  Is  there  any  Northerner  who 
wishes  to  marry  her  ?  ” 

There  was  Bessie  Douglas,  Tom’s  sister  ;  but 
Bessie  was  not  pretty  enough  for  a  heroine.  It 
is  so  much  easier  to  have  a  pretty  heroine.  No 
matter  what  silly  things  she  may  say  or  do,  the 
reader  does  not  wonder  at  the  hero’s  falling  in 
love  with  her.  A  plain  girl  has  to  utter  such 
brilliant  things,  to  satisfy  the  public  ! 

There  was  a  troop  of  little  St.  Johns, — 
Arthur,  Wilfrid,  and  Clarence ;  but  they  looked 
so  much  alike,  and  were  so  tangled  up,  wearing 
each  other’s  clothes  indiscriminately,  that  this 


8 


THE  COLONEL’S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


small  band  of  brothers  would  have  filled  the 
office  of  hero  to  overflowing. 

With  so  many  grown-up  white  ladies  and 
gentlemen  on  hand,  it  would  hardly  have  been 
respectful  to  take  Pomp’s  grandson  as  hero, 
although  his  name  might  well  have  suggested 
the  choice,  —  “John  Jasper  Jackson.”  Jackson 
was  not  his  last  name, —  he  had  none:  it  was 
only  one  of  his  names.  Jackson  John  Jasper,  or 
Jasper  Jackson  John,  answered  just  as  well. 

There  was  Mr.  Cavello  ;  but  I  knew  so  little 
of  Spaniards,  —  I  only  knew  Mr.  Cavello,  —  and 
so  little  of  Spanish,  —  only  “  Senor  ”  and  “  San 
Salvador,”  —  and  so  little  of  Spanish  affairs, — 
only  a  few  items  about  coffee  and  sugar  planta¬ 
tions  and  cigarettes,  —  that  I  hardly  felt  equal 
to  using  Mr.  Cavello. 

But  there  was  a  being  —  I  may  call  it  that, 
because  it  had  being  —  which  often  warmed  and 
clothed  the  St.  John  family  ;  which  was  with 
them  by  day  and  by  night,  in  pleasure  and  in 
sorrow ;  which  delivered  them  from  dire  dis¬ 
tresses  by  land  and  sea  ;  which  neither  ate  their 
food  nor  spent  their  money  ;  which  did  not 
smoke,  nor  play,  nor  drink,  like  the  Colonel. 
This  being  I  have  chosen  for  my  leading  char¬ 
acter.  Enter 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak. 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK .  9 


CHAPTER  I. 


ITTLE  Ned  Douglas  was  fired  with  an 


^  earnest  desire  to  possess  a  certain  scarlet 
and  gold  “  Pilgrim’s  Progress,”  which  had  been 
shown  to  the  admiring  eyes  of  the  children  in 
his  Sunday  school,  as  a  reward  to  the  one  who 
should  bring  in  the  largest  number  of  new  schol¬ 
ars.  Ned  had  determined  to  win  the  prize. 

Strange  to  say,  the  “  new  scholars  ”  whom 
Ned  secured  were  all  short  of  clothes.  One  day 
he  appeared,  flushed  and  excited,  at  the  dinner- 
table,  demanding  three  hats,  a  purple  necktie, 
two  pairs  of  shoes,  and  a  few  handkerchiefs. 

“Hcive  you  found  a  boy  with  four  feet,  three 
heads,  a  few  noses,  and  only  one  neck  ?  ”  asked 


Tom. 


“  No  !  ”  cried  little  Ned,  indignantly  :  “  there 
are  three  boys,  and  one  is  black.  He’s  a  friend 
of  the  white  boys,  and  they  live  in  his  house. 

I  played  with  them  in  the  park  one  day,  and  >( 
they  are  all  splendid !  They  used  to  be  rich, 
and  now  they  are  poor.  I  guess  they  are  poor,” 


10 


TILE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


he  added,  rather  doubtfully,  “  because  they  said 
they ’d  all  come  to  Sunday  school  if  I  ’d  get  them 
shoes  and  hats  and  handkerchiefs  ;  and  the  little 
black  boy  wanted  a  purple  necktie.  But  they 
have  splendid  jack-knives,  and  they  eat  candy  all 
the  time,  and  chew  Jenny-Lind  gum !  Their 
mother  lets  them  do  it,”  and  little  Ned  looked 
reproachfully  at  his  mother. 

The  new  acquaintances  were  soon  provided 
with  clothes,  and  they  entered  the  school  the 
next  Sunday. 

“  Isn’t  it  queer  ?  ”  said  Ned,  some  time  after 
this.  “  Those  splendid  boys  used  to  live  in  the 
South,  and  they  were  as  rich  as  kings,  and  had 
lots  of  slaves.  One  of  them  said  that  we  got  his 
slaves  away.  I  told  him  ’twas  no  such  thing. 
I  told  him  that  you  and  father  used  to  live  in 
the  South,  but  you  didn’t  touch  their  slaves. 
Arthur  —  he ’s  the  biggest  boy  —  says  his  mother 
is  sick,  and  wants  you  to  come  and  see  her. 
She  said  she  hadn’t  seen  a  real  lady  for  a  year.” 

“  Isn’t  it  papa  she  wants  to  see,  if  she  is  ill  ?  ” 
asked  his  mother. 

“  Oh,  no,  mamma,  it  is  you  ;  and  she  wants 
you  to  come  quick.  She  says  she’ll  come  to 
church  some  day,  maybe.” 

Mrs.  Douglas  went  the  very  next  day,  provided 
with  the  address  on  a  card.  She  was  sure  when 
she  reached  the  house  that  Ned  had  made  a  mis- 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK . 


1 1 


take ;  for  it  was  in  a  fashionable  part  of  the 
city. 

She  found  a  handsome  residence,  with  high 
steps,  on  which  two  dirty  white  boys  were  play¬ 
ing  with  a  little  black  boy  who  was  not  so  dirty. 

“  Does  Mrs.  St.  John  live  here  ?  ”  asked  Mrs. 
Douglas. 

“  Yes,  ma’am,”  said  one  of  the  boys,  rising  and 
taking  off  his  hat.  “  Won’t  you  come  in  ?  ” 

“  I ’m  Ned  Douglas’s  mother.  Are  you  the 
St.  John  boys  ?  ”  she  said,  smiling. 

“Yes,  ma’am,”  replied  the  little  fellow  who 
had  already  spoken.  “  Mamma  wanted  to  see 
you  very  much.  She  ’s  away  from  all  her  friends 
here,  and  Ned  said  you ’d  lived  South.  Get  up, 
you  varmint !  ”  he  added  pleasantly  to  the  col¬ 
ored  boy,  “  and  see  if  the  bell  will  go.” 

The  little  chap  rattled  the  knob,  which  had 
evidently  parted  company  with  the  bell,  and 
pounded  on  the  door  with  his  fists. 

“  I  ’ll  tell  you  what  to  do,  Jasper,”  said  one  of 
the  boys :  “  you  crawl  into  the  basement  win¬ 
dow,  and  run  and  open  the  door.” 

The  little  fellow  was  soon  heard  tugging  at 
the  lock  from  the  inside.  After  repeated  efforts, 
the  door  burst  open,  and  sent  him  sprawling  on 
his  back  upon  the  hall  floor,  like  a  little  turtle. 

“  Dat  ain’t  no  kind  of  a  do’,  Missus,”  said  he, 
picking  himself  up,  and  rubbing  his  head  :  “  it 


12  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


keeps  a  sayin’  it  won’t  open,  an’,  jus’  as  yer 
b’lieves  it,  out  it  hits  an’  sends  yer  slambang ! 
Dat  door’s  jus’  like  my  gran’fa’  :  ’pears  like  he’s 
never  goin’  to  lick  yer,  no  matter  what  yer  does  ; 
an’,  fus’  thing,  he  fetches  yer  a  cuff,  an’  over 
yer  goes.” 

While  Jasper  was  thus  moralizing,  Mrs.  Doug¬ 
las  looked  about  to  see  if  the  parlors  were  acces¬ 
sible.  Hearing  a  noise  above,  she  involuntarily 
glanced  up,  and  saw  the  dark  sallow  face  of  a 
man,  and  as  much  of  his  body  as  could  be  safely 
balanced  over  the  banisters,  and  heard  a  child’s 
giggle. 

At  that  moment,  a  moist  little  pellet  struck 
her  cheek.  Then  followed  a  scuffle,  a  slap, 
“  You  nasty  boy  !  ”  and  the  slamming  of  a  door. 

The  front  door  was  too  securely  closed,  or  she 
would  have  retreated. 

Just  then  a  black  man  came  up  the  basement 
stairs,  and  bowed  respectfully. 

“Can  I  see  Mrs.  St.  John?”  asked  Mrs. 
Douglas. 

“Yes,  Missus,  if  yer  will  have  de  goodness  to 
wait  one  moment  whiles  I  opens  de  parlor  do’. 
De  knob,  I  sees,  is  off,”  he  said,  as  calmly 
as  if  it  was  quite  usual  for  knobs  to  step  out  on 
business. 

He  vanished  into  the  back  parlor,  where  a 
murmuring  conversation  was  soon  heard. 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK .  1 3 


The  sliding-door  groaned,  and  evidently  ran 
off  its  track.  Then  with  a  flourish,  as  if  he  had 
that  instant  heard  of  the  arrival  there,  Pomp 
opened  the  front-parlor  door. 

Such  a  parlor !  The  shades  were  drawn  to 
the  highest  point,  the  lace  curtains  were  tied 
in  knots  ;  and,  raising  her  eyes  to  the  frescoed 
ceiling,  Mrs.  Douglas  saw  that  her  unseen  friend 
of  the  spit-ball  had  not  aimed  his  first  at  her, — 
no,  nor  his  twenty-first. 

There  was  a  pair  of  cavalry-boots  under  the 
piano,  and  a  pan  of  molasses-candy  on  top  of  it. 
A  bowl  of  broth  stood  on  the  centre-table.  The 
chair  which  Mrs.  Douglas  took  refused  to  hold 
her ;  and  the  sofa  was  as  comfortable  as  a  seat  in 
a  coal-bin,  the  springs  being  broken  and  twisted. 

Pomp  retired  into  the  back  parlor  to  inform 
“  Missus  ”  that  the  lady  was  in  the  other  room. 

The  rustle  of  silk  was  now  heard,  and  the 
beating  of  pillows.  No  word  was  spoken ;  but 
Mrs.  Douglas  was  conscious  of  the  pantomime 
which  was  directing  Pomp  as  he  squeaked  about 
the  apartment. 

At  last,  he  appeared  at  the  sliding-door,  which 
had  refused  to  close  behind  him,  and  asked  her 
in,  with,  “Mrs.  Douglas  —  Mrs.  St.  John.” 

In  a  bed,  in  one  corner  of  the  finely  furnished 
room,  Mrs.  St.  John  half-sat,  half-lay.  She  mo¬ 
tioned  Mrs.  Douglas  to  a  chair,  which  the  poor 


14  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK . 


lady  tested  with  her  hand  before  seating  her¬ 
self. 

Mrs.  St.  John  was  a  young  and  very  hand¬ 
some  woman.  She  wore  a  lilac  silk  waist,  with 
a  lace  shawl  thrown  over  her  shoulders,  fast¬ 
ened  with  a  diamond  pin.  Mrs.  Douglas  saw 
the  skirt  of  the  lilac  waist  over  a  chair  at  the 
head  of  the  bed  :  it  only  accompanied  the  lady 
on  walking  excursions  ! 

Mrs.  St.  John  was  very  languid. 

“You  can’t  tell  how  glad  I  am  to  see  some 
one  who  has  lived  South,”  she  said,  in  a  low, 
drawling  voice.  “  These  Northerners  are  so  ill- 
bred.  I  hate  to  have  my  boys  associate  with 
them,  —  it ’s  so  bad  for  their  manners.  I  see 
the  difference  in  them  already.  I  believe  it’s 
in  the  air. 

“  The  war  made  things  very  hard  for  the  Col¬ 
onel.  He  fought  and  fought ;  and  the  North¬ 
erners  stole  every  thing  they  could  lay  their 
hands  on.  Why,  the  officers,  generals  and  all, 
would  steal  the  rings  off  our  fingers  ;  and  they 
grudged  us  every  mouthful  we  ate  !  I  was  very 
young  ;  I  was  married  during  the  war ;  but  I 
saw  enough  of  it.  Why,  one  of  your  generals  — 
the  head  one,  I  reckon  —  tore  the  ear-rings  right 
out  of  a  lady’s  ears  !  The  Colonel  lost  all  his 
slaves,  and  I  lost  all  mine,  except  Pomp  :  he 
knew  what  was  good  for  him  !  The  ungrateful 


9 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  15 


things,  —  to  clear  out,  after  we  had  fed  and 
clothed  them  for  generations  ! 

“  The  Colonel  had  heaps  of  money  stolen  by 
your  men.  He  owns  heaps  of  land  in  Texas 
now,  where  there  are  lead-mines  ;  but  he  can’t 
get  much  money  out  of  it  at  a  time,  and  so  Pomp 
has  to  keep  things  going  as  best  he  can.  It’s 
very  different  from  the  good  old  days. 

“  The  Colonel  brought  us  all  here,  and  then 
went  out  to  his  old  mines.  I ’m  so  much  younger 
than  he,  he  ought  to  stay  at  home  and  look  after 
me.  I  was  only  sixteen  when  I  was  married. 

“  The  last  time  the  Colonel  was  at  home,  he 
brought  back  a  Spanish  gentleman,  Mr.  Ca- 
vello,  to  visit.  He  met  up  with  him  in  New 
Orleans.  The  Colonel  said  he  wanted  to  see  the 
city,  and  that  he  was  a  good  friend  of  his.  He 
goes  to  his  club  to  meals. 

“I  think,”  continued  Mrs.  St.John,  —  whose 
slow  words  knew  no  pause,  —  “I  think  the 
Colonel  has  had  money  of  him,  or  he’d  never 
be  so  polite  to  him.” 

“  Do  you  know  any  thing  about  him  ?  ”  the 
Doctor’s  wife  ventured  to  ask. 

“  Oh,  he  ’s  what  he  says  he  is,  —  as  rich  as  can 
be!  He  tells  about  his  niggers  and  his  planta¬ 
tions,  and  he  has  good  diamonds.  I  wish  he ’d 
take  a  fancy  to  the  Colonel’s  niece,  —  it  would 
be  a  good  thing  for  her. 


1 6  THE  CO  LONE HS  OPEE  A  CLOAK. 


“  I  never  am  very  well,”  she  went  on.  “  I  like 
to  lie  down,  —  it’s  so  much  easier  than  to  sit  up. 
It’s  so  cold  here  that  1  never  can  keep  warm 
out  of  bed,  and  hardly  in  it.  —  Pomp  !  Pomp  !  ” 
Mrs.  Douglas  had  seen  Pomp  through  the 
door,  nodding  in  one  of  the  red  satin  chairs. 
He  started  on  hearing  his  name. 

“  Pomp,  my  feet  are  cold !  Bring  me  the 
Colonel’s  opera  cloak.” 

Pomp  began  a  search.  He  looked  in  the  closet 
and  behind  the  chairs,  and  finally  went  on  all 
,  fours  under  the  bed,  whence  he  triumphantly 
emerged,  with  a  large  blue  cape,  lined  with  scar¬ 
let,  with  shining  gilt  clasps  at  the  neck. 

“  Oh,  I  was  telling  you  about  Leslie,”  said 
Mrs.  St.  John,  after  Pomp  had  tucked  her  feet 
up,  and  settled  himself  for  another  nap.  “  I  wish 
I  could  marry  that  girl  off  to  some  rich  North¬ 
erner.  She  says  she  likes  them.  She ’s  seven¬ 
teen  now,  and  over.  When  the  summer  comes, 
I  mean  to  get  her  a  lot  of  new  dresses,  and 
take  her  to  some  fashionable  resort  for  a  month, 
to  see  if  I  can’t  get  her  off.  She  has  no  mother, 
and  I  must  do  my  duty  by  her.  I  wish  to  mercy 
Mr.  Cavello  would  take  a  fancy  to  her  !  ” 

There  was  a  silence.  Mrs.  Douglas  was 
horror-stricken. 

The  Doctor’s  wife  feared  that  Mrs.  St.  John 
expected  her  now  to  take  her  turn,  in  revealing 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  1 7 


all  the  Doctor’s  weak  points.  Disappointment 
awaited  her.  Why,  Mrs.  Douglas  only  called 
them  “the  Doctor’s  ways,”  to  herself. 

But  no,  Mrs.  St.  John  was  only  taking  breath 
to  go  on  with  her  own  affairs. 

“  Pomp !  Pomp  !  call  Miss  Leslie.” 

Pomp  opened  the  door  into  the  hall,  when 
instantly  there  was  a  scampering  and  scuf¬ 
fling. 

“Yer  unmannered  boys,  hain’t  yer  got  no 
’ligion,  to  make  yer  act  like  gent’men  ?  Don’t 
yer  know  de  Bible, — ‘’Member  yer  fader  an’ 
moder  to  keep  ’em  holy !  ’  Peekin’  frou  de  do’ 
at  de  strange  lady,  actin’  ’s  ef  yer  was  raised 
Norf !  ” 

Leslie  St.  John,  having  been  summoned  by 
Pomp,  came  shyly  into  the  room.  Mrs.  Doug¬ 
las  took  to  her  at  once.  No  one  could  help 
it,  she  was  so  sweet.  She  drew  the  girl  toward 
her  and  kissed  her,  although  she  had  only  meant 
to  shake  hands  ;  and  Leslie  loved  her  from 
that  minute. 

“This  is  the  Colonel’s  niece,  that  I  was  tell¬ 
ing  you  about,”  said  Mrs.  St.  John.  “She’s  an 
orphan,  and  hasn’t  a  cent.  Well,  I  hope  the 
Northerners  are  satisfied,  when  they  see  the 
poor  starved  orphans  they  made.”  And  Mrs.  St. 
John  looked  severely  at  Mrs.  Douglas,  as  if  she 
had  personally  been  upon  the  war-path. 


1 8  THE  CO  LONE  HS  OPERA  CLOAK. 


Leslie  hung  her  head  :  she  did  not  fancy  being 
exhibited  as  a  representative  Southern  orphan. 

The  door  now  opened,  and  the  boys  rushed  in. 

“  Mamma/’  cried  one  of  them,  “  excuse  me  for 
interrupting  you,  but  we  must  have  a  new  foot¬ 
ball  at  once.” 

“  Arthur,  you  shall  not  have  one  cent !  I  ’m 
going  to  buy  coal  this  time  !  It’s  a  very  poor 
way,”  she  added,  turning  to  Mrs.  Douglas,  “  to 
get  it  every  few  hours  in  a  basket.  Jasper  for¬ 
gets  it,  and  the  furnace  gets  low.” 

“  I  want  a  foot-ball,  too,”  said  little  Clarence, 
slipping  round  to  the  bed-side.  “  Arthur  never 
lets  me  play  with  his.” 

“  Look  a-here,  Missus,”  interposed  Jasper,  with 
wide-open  eyes,  “  Massa  Clar’nce  don’t  no  more 
need  dat  foot-ball  dan  he  needs  anoder  foot.  Dem 
little  ten  cent  toss-balls  is  good  enough  for  sech 
a  little  boy  as  Massa  Clar’nce.” 

“’Tain’t  neither,”  replied  Clarence,  aiming  a 
blow  at  Jasper. 

“  Where  is  that  last  foot-ball  gone  ?  ”  said 
Mrs.  St.  John,  languidly. 

“  It ’s  burnt  up,  Missus,”  said  Jasper. 

“  Who  burnt  it  ?  ” 

“  Nobody  ain’t  burnt  it  but  de  furnace,  Missus. 
Massa  Arthur  he  put  it  in  de  coal-hod  when  he 
got  frou  playin’,  an’  I  didn’t  see  it,  an’  petched 
it  into  de  furnace.” 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  1 9 


“Yer  ought  to  ’er  looked,”  said  Pomp,  in  a 
sharp  tone,  joining  the  group  around  Mrs.  St. 
John,  which  by  this  time  suggested  the  death¬ 
bed  of  Luther.  “Yer  ought  to  ’er  looked  to 
see  ef  de  foot-ball  was  in  de  hod  !  you  ’re  drefful 
keerless.  I  ’s’pect  some  day  you  ’ll  frow  de  silver 
teapot,  what ’s  got  Missus’  great-grand-moder’s 
name  on  to  it,  into  de  furnace.”  And  Pomp  cast 
a  sidelong  glance  at  Mrs.  Douglas.  “  Yer  must 
be  more  keerful  to  allers  look  in  de  hod  :  yer 
burnt  up  one  of  my  bes’  shoes  t’other  day,  yer 
knows.” 

“Oh,  dear,”  said  Mrs.  St.  John,  fretfully,  “do 
go  away  :  you  want  to  kill  me,  I  know.  Here, 
Arthur,  take  this  twenty-dollar  bill,  spend  five 
dollars  for  all  of  you,  and  bring  me  back  the 
change.” 

Before  long,  Jasper  returned,  and  laid  a  bill 
on  the  bed. 

“  I  want  —  I  want  —  let  me  see,”  said  Mrs. 
St.  John  :  “  why,  I  want  fifteen  dollars,  and 
here’s  only  five.” 

“  Why,”  said  Jasper,  his  eyes  starting  out 
white  and  round,  “  yer  said  how ’t  every  one  on 
’em  was  to  hev  five  dollars.  Massa  Arthur  an’ 
Massa  Wilfrid  dey  got  foot-balls  an’  knives  an’ 
heaps  o’  things,  an’  Massa  Clar’nce  kicked  ’em, 
in  de  store,  an’  hollared,  an’  dey  had  tc  buy 
him  things.” 


20  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


“  That ’s  just  the  way  those  boys  act  since  they 
came  North,”  said  the  poor  lady,  feebly  shaking 
her  head. 

Pomp  had  been  nodding  again  in  the  satin 
chair.  He  roused  himself  at  Jasper’s  voice,  and 
came  into  the  room. 

“  I  ’se  gwine  to  market  now,  Miss  Marie,”  said 
he  to  Mrs.  St.  John,  “  an  I  wants  five  dollars,  ef 
yer  pleases.  Ef  I  don’t  go  now,  I  specs  yer  11 
give  Massa  Cavello  a  foot-ball  next,  an’  den 
dare  won’t  be  no  mouf-balls  for  to  eat  when  de 
dinner-time  comes.” 

Mrs.  St.  John  handed  him  the  money. 

“Now  you’ve  got  the  last  cent,  Pomp,  and  I 
hope  you  ’re  satisfied  !  ”  she  said. 

“  Ef  I  could  ever  git  de  fust  an’  de  middle 
an’  de  las’,”  said  Pomp  to  himself,  “  I  reckon 
things  wouldn’t  go  so  contr’y  as  dey  does  now 
in  dis  house.” 

Mrs.  Douglas  was  uneasy.  What  sort  of  a 
woman  was  this  ?  Who  were  these  people  ?  She 
rose  to  go.  Mrs.  St.  John  begged  her  to  come 
in  often. 

Leslie  sat  in  the  shadow. 

“You  must  come  and  see  me,  my  dear,”  said 
Mrs.  Douglas,  turning  to  her. 

“  Do  you  really  want  me  to  come  ?  ”  asked  the 
girl,  brightening. 

“  Leslie !  ”  said  her  aunt,  in  such  a  tone  that 
the  girl  blushed  painfully. 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK.  21 


“  Certainly  I  do,”  said  the  Doctor’s  wife.  “  I 
shall  look  for  you  next  week.” 

During  the  call,  l\frs.  St.  John  had  mentioned 
a  friend  of  the  Colonel’s,  —  Frank  Merriam, — 
whose  wife  Mrs.  Douglas  knew.  As  soon  as 
she  reached  home,  she  seated  herself  and  wrote 
to  her  friend  :  — 

“  Dear  Mary,  —  Did  you  ever  hear  of  a 
Colonel  St.  John  ?  Who  is  he  ?  Where  is  he  ? 
Where  did  you  hear  of  him  ?  Did  you  ever  see 
Mrs.  St.  John  ?  They  have  hired  an  elegantly 
furnished  house  on  Margrave  Street,  which  now 
has  the  air  of  an  auction-shop,  —  no,  that  is  feeble, 
—  nothing  less  than  an  earthquake,  assisted  by 
chain-lightning,  could  have  wrought  such  changes ! 

“They  evidently  walk  on  the  ceiling;  the 
colored  servant  sleeps  in  the  red  satin  chairs ; 
they  spill  broth  over  the  Moquette  carpets,  and 
leave  molasses  candy  pans  on  the  piano.  Every 
thing  is  done  that  ought  not  to  be  done,  and 
nothing  is  done  that  ought  to  be  done. 

“  They  take  presents  of  shoes  from  the  Sun¬ 
day  school,  and  spend  fifteen  dollars  at  once  for 
foot-balls  and  other  toys. 

“  There  ’s  a  Spaniard  visiting  in  the  house, 
whom  the  lady  dislikes  very  much. 

“  Do  have  instant  mercy  on  my  curiosity,  and 
let  me  hear  from  you.” 


22 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


She  soon  received  the  following  reply  :  — 

“  Dear  Louise,  —  I  have  heard  of  Colonel 
St.  John.  When  ?  A  few  years  ago,  soon  after 
our  marriage.  Where  ?  At  Saratoga,  —  where 
else  does  one  hear  of  people?  Where  is  he? 
Everywhere.  Who  is  he  ?  He ’s  Colonel  St. 
John. 

“  I  have  asked  Frank  for  particulars.  He 
says  they  belong  to  one  of  the  first  Southern 
families.  The  Colonel  is  perfectly  respectable,  he 
says,  —  only  rather  pompous  and  ‘high-toned/ 

“  They  are  poor,  having  lost  every  thing  in 
the  war,  except  land  of  the  Colonel’s,  some¬ 
where  in  the  South  or  West.  Frank  says  he 
lives  by  selling  a  piece  now  and  then.  There 
is  supposed  to  be  a  lead-mine,  and  it  is  really 
believed  to  be  valuable,  so  that  he  may  be  well- 
off  some  day. 

“I  don’t  know  about  the  Spaniard.  Frank 
says  they  have  a  pretty  niece  :  have  you  seen 
her  ? 

“Frank  sends  word  that  you  must  not  forget 
to  mention  their  doings  whenever  you  write. 
He  went  to  their  house  once.  The  chain-liofht- 
ning  and  the  earthquake  had  been  there  also  ! 

“  I  saw  the  Colonel  once  at  the  opera.  He 
looked  very  picturesque.  He  wore  a  cloak  lined 
with  scarlet,  which  gave  him  a  gay,  cavalier 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  23 


air.  I  wanted  Frank  to  buy  one,  —  being  roman¬ 
tic  in  those  days,  —  but  he  said  he  would  sooner 
see  himself  in  a  gray  shawl,  pinned  at  the  neck, 
like  old  Mr.  Simpson,  —  do  you  remember  ? 

“  I  wouldn’t  have  written  to  a  soul  but  you 
to-day,  for  I  have  such  a  cold  that  I  dare  say 
my  b’s  are  all  p’s,  and  my  m’s  are  all  b’s.  Tell 
us  more.” 


24  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK . 


CHAPTER  II. 


"TDESSIE  DOUGLAS  was  longing  to  see 
the  St.  Johns.  Mrs.  Douglas’s  account 
of  her  call  had  amused  Bessie  and  her  friends, 
Miss  Wentworth  and  Gertrude  Henderson,  very 
much. 

“  Why  can’t  we  have  Leslie  to  tea  ?  ”  asked 
Bessie.  “  What  do  you  suppose  she ’d  wear  ? 
Perhaps  her  aunt’s  silk  skirt,  —  perhaps  the 
cavalry-boots  you  saw  in  the  parlor.” 

“  Perhaps  the  red  cloak  which  Mrs.  Merriam 
saw  on  the  Colonel,  and  which  I  saw  on  Mrs.  St. 
John,”  said  Mrs.  Douglas,  laughing. 

When  Leslie  was  invited  to  the  Doctor’s  to 
tea,  she  was  delighted  at  first,  and  then  her 
spirits  sank. 

“  O  auntie,”  she  said,  “  I  can’t  go.  My  dress 
isn’t  nice  enough.” 

“  I  ’ll  lend  you  one  of  mine,”  said  Mrs.  St. 
John:  “it  will  fit  you  well  enough,  I  reckon,  if 
you  pin  the  waist  over.  You  can  have  this  lilac 
silk,  if  you  want  it.” 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPEAA  CLOAK.  25 


There  was  a  black  and  white  checked  silk 
which  Leslie  would  rather  have  had,  but  she 
knew  better  than  to  ask  for  it ;  so  she  took  the 
one  offered  her,  and  tried  to  be  thankful. 

“Yer  doesn’t  feel  happy,  does  yer,  honey?” 
said  Pomp,  as  he  pinned  her  collar  for  her,  on 
the  day  of  the  visit. 

“  No,  Pomp.  I  would  really  rather  stay  at 
home  than  wear  this  waist,  but  Aunt  Marie 
makes  me  go.” 

“  What  would  yer  have,  ef  I  could  find  it  for 
yer  ?  ”  asked  Pomp,  as  though  he  was  a  good 
fairy,  able  to  give  three  gifts  for  any  three  re¬ 
quests. 

“  Well,  Pomp,  if  I  could  have  that  little  red 
India  shawl,  I  could  cover  up  this  waist  ;  but  I 
don’t  dare  to  ask  for  it,  and,  if  you  do,  she  won’t 
give  it  to  me.” 

“  Oh,  yes,  she  will !  ”  said  Pomp,  confidently, 
as  he  vanished  into  the  back  parlor.  He  rum¬ 
maged  the  bureau-drawers  and  the  wardrobe, 
until  Mrs.  St.  John  fretfully  inquired,  without 
raising  her  eyes  from  her  French  novel,  what 
he  wanted. 

“  I  ’se  lookin’  for  Massa  Clar’nce’  new  shirt,” 
replied  Pomp.  “  I  never  see  how  shirts  does 
act,  gittin’  into  all  sorts  o’  places!  Ef  I'd  made 
clo’es,  I’d  a  gin  ’em  ears,  so  dey ’d  come  when 
dey  was  called.  Here  yer  am!”  he  cried  t ri- 


26  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


umphantly,  shaking  out  something.  “  I  thought 
I  ’d  find  yer,  —  none  so  deef  as  dem  dat  won’t 
hear.”  And  Pomp  “  wobbed  ”  the  shawl  into  a 
white  garment  and  hurried  it  out  to  Leslie. 

Leslie  could  not  remember  what  she  had  done 
with  her  hat ;  and,  as  it  was  nearly  dark,  she  said 
she  didn’t  mind,  she ’d  wear  Clarence’s. 

Pomp  looked  at  her  admiringly  as  she  set  it 
jauntily  on  her  pretty  head.  Then  he  wrapped 
the  opera  cloak  carefully  around  her,  and  gazed 
after  her  until  she  turned  the  corner. 

Leslie  had  never  seen  any  of  the  family,  ex¬ 
cept  Mrs.  Douglas,  and  hardly  dared  to  ring 
the  bell  and  face  them  all. 

As  she .  hesitated  on  the  steps,  a  young  man 
came  up  and  put  a  latch-key  in  the  door.  He 
knew  in  a  moment  that  this  odd-looking  girl  was 
Leslie  St.  John. 

“Have  you  rung,  Miss  St.  John?”  he  asked. 
“  I  know  you,  for  my  sister  told  me  you 
were  coming  to  tea.” 

“I  haven’t  rung,”  said  Leslie,  dropping  her 
eyes.  That  was  a  bad  habit,  Tom  thought,  for 
such  pretty  eyes.  “  I  was  waiting  a  minute  to 
get  courage.  I  don’t  know  your  sister.” 

“  You  ’ll  know  her  soon,”  said  Tom,  feeling  at 
once  as  if  he  were  protecting  Leslie.  “  She ’s 
easy  enough  to  get  acquainted  with.  You  know 
my  mother  ?  ” 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK .  2 7 


“Yes,”  replied  Leslie,  “and  I  think  she’s 
lovely.  She  was  so  kind,  to  invite  me.  I ’ve 
never  been  out  to  tea  before  in  my  life.” 

What  a  time  it  had  taken  to  fit  that  latch¬ 
key  ! 

At  the  opening  of  the  front  door,  Bessie  came 
into  the  hall. 

“  Oh,  how  do  you  do  ?  ”  said  she,  so  cordially 
that  Leslie  at  once  felt  at  ease.  “  Did  you  let 
her  in,  Tom  ?  ” 

“Yes,  it  was  me, 

With  my  little  key,  — 

I  let  her  in,” 

said  Tom,  smiling. 

“Oh,”  thought  Leslie,  “what  a  handsome 
fellow,  and  so  kind  and  witty  and  elegant  !  ” 

She  went  into  the  parlor,  but  felt  very  timid 
when  she  saw  two  fashionable  young  ladies  sit¬ 
ting  cosily  on  the  sofa  by  the  fire ;  but  she 
laughed  when  Bessie  introduced  her. 

“  Nobody  ever  called  me  Miss  St.  John  before, 
except  your  brother,  on  the  steps.  I  forget  whom 
you  mean  :  couldn’t  you  call  me  Leslie  ?  ” 

“  I  could,  and  I  will,”  said  Bessie. 

Grace  Wentworth  made  room  for  Leslie  be¬ 
side  her.  Gertrude  Henderson  looked  her  over  : 
Leslie  felt  her  eyes,  and  was  uncomfortable. 

Miss  Henderson  did  not  say  much.  She  leaned 
back  in  her  corner,  and  looked  into  the  fire,  hold- 


28  THE  COLONELS  OP  EE  A  CLOAK. 


ing  her  delicate  hand  before  her  face.  How  her 
rings  shone  and  glistened ! 

Grace  Wentworth  and  Bessie  and  Leslie  were 
quite  well  acquainted  by  the  time  the  tea-bell 
rang. 

Tom  came  in  then,  and  Leslie  noticed  how 
Miss  Henderson’s  manner  changed.  She  was 
no  longer  listless  :  her  eyes  brightened,  and  she 
laughed  and  talked,  so  that  Tom  had  only  a 
chance  to  smile  and  nod  to  Leslie. 

When  they  returned  to  the  parlor  after  tea, 
before  the  gas  was  lighted,  Gertrude  Henderson 
played  for  them.  Tom  was  on  the  sofa  next  to 
Leslie,  who  had  seated  herself  in  the  corner. 

“  How  do  you  like  her  playing  ?  ”  he  asked, 
leaning  toward  her,  while  the  others  were  calling 
for  their  favorite  pieces. 

“  Oh,  it  is  splendid,”  said  Leslie,  “  only  we 
ought  to  have  lights,  blazing  lights,  and  every¬ 
body  should  be  dancing  and  wear  gay  dresses, 
and  there  should  be  long  mirrors  everywhere  to 
make  it  brighter  and  gayer.” 

“  Exactly !  ”  said  Tom,  looking  at  her  with  his 
handsome  smiling  eyes,  —  “that’s  exactly  Ger¬ 
trude’s  music.  I  wonder  how  you  ’ll  like  Grace 
Wentworth’s  !  ” 

Tom  did  not  talk  any  more  to  Leslie  after  Miss 
Henderson  ceased  playing.  He  and  Gertrude 
seemed  to  talk  for  all  the  rest.  She  was  very 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  29 


amusing,  and  Tom  teased  her.  Leslie  wondered 
how  he  dared  to  do  so  ;  but  Miss  Henderson 
seemed  to  like  it.  The  others  listened  and 
laughed. 

After  a  while,  Grace  Wentworth  played  ;  and 
Leslie  was  enchanted. 

“  Do  you  like  that  ?”  asked  Tom. 

“  Oh,  I  do,  I  do,”  said  Leslie  :  “  that’s  just  the 
kind  I  always  knew  I ’d  like.  I  never  heard  it 
before.  I  want  to  shut  my  eyes  and  forget 
every  thing.” 

“And  everybody?”  asked  Tom.  “Can’t  I 
speak  to  you  again  ?  ’ 

“  Oh,  I  didn’t  mean  that,”  said  Leslie,  quite 
shocked  at  her  seeming  rudeness.  “  I  only 
meant  that  this  was  the  sort  of  music  for  the 
dark  and  quiet  times.  Do  you  like  it  ?  ” 

“  With  all  my  heart,”  said  Tom.  “Don’t  you 
sing  ?  You  look  as  if  you  did.” 

“  Oh,  yes,  I  sing  for  myself,  and  for  Pomp,  and 
to  put  Clarence  to  sleep,  and  for  Mr.  Cavello  — 
sometimes.” 

“  You  don’t  sing  Mr.  Cavello  to  sleep,  do 
you  ?  ”  asked  Tom,  laughing. 

“  Meiey,  no!”  said  Leslie.  “I  reckon  you 
don’t  know  who  Mr.  Cavello  is.” 

“  Can’t  you  add  me  to  the  list  of  the  people 
you  sing  to?  Come,  Grace  is  through;”  and 
Tom  took  her  hand  to  lead  her  to  the  piano. 


30  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


“  Oh,  I  don’t  play  a  bit,”  said  Leslie,  drawing 
back  ;  “  I  only  sing.  I ’d  rather  sing  here  in  the 
corner.” 

“  Oh,  do  sing,”  said  Bessie  and  Grace,  who 
had  been  listening:  “we  like  the  voice  alone.” 

What  queer  singing  it  was !  The  room  was 
perfectly  silent.  Every  one  listened.  Her  voice 
had  a  sweet,  far-away  sound. 

“  The  earliest  pipe  of  half-awakened  birds,” 
Tom  said  to  himself. 

She  sang  to  a  swinging,  chanting  sort  of 
air,  — 

“  There  was  a  little  white  cloud  in  the  sky, 

I  saw  it  float  and  float : 

I  said  I  will  take  it  for  a  sign 
Of  my  own  dear  sailor’s  boat. 

If  the  little  white  cloud  shall  safely  sail 
By  the  black  cloud  rack  in  the  West, 

I  know  my  lad  will  come  sailing,  sailing 
To  the  lass  his  heart  loves  best. 

And  the  little  white  cloud,  it  safely  sailed 
By  the  black  cloud  rack  in  the  West, 

So  I  know  my  love  will  come  sailing,  sailing 
To  the  lass  his  heart  loves  best.” 

"  Another !  another!”  cried  Bessie.  “Your 
voice  is  lovely.  Don’t  you  think  so,  Gertrude  ?  ” 

“Yes,”  said  she.  “With  whom  did  you  study, 
Miss  St.  John  ?  ” 

“  I  never  studied  at  all,  except  when  I  went  to 
Miss  Paynter’s  boarding-school,  and  then  I  didn’t 
learn  much,”  said  Leslie,  laughing.  “  Her  niece 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK .  3 1 


came  over  from  England,  and  she  taught  me  my 
songs.  I  had  a  fever  when  I  was  there,  and  she 
took  all  the  care  of  me,  and  was  so  kind !  She 
used  to  sing  to  me  half  through  the  night,  —  it 
was  better  than  medicine.  She  sang  another 
song  that  I  like.” 

“  Oh,  do  sing  something  else,”  said  Grace  and 
Tom  at  once. 

The  door-bell  rang  violently. 

“  Why  do  people  have  door-bells  !  ”  said  Bessie, 
impatiently. 

A  strange  voice  was  heard  in  the  hall.  The 
door  opened  to  admit  the  visitor.  Leslie  shrank 
back  into  the  shadow. 

Mrs.  Douglas  recognized  the  sallow  face  of 
the  gentleman  who  had  balanced  himself  over  the 
banisters  the  day  she  called  on  Mrs.  St.  John. 

The  lights  were  low,  and  the  Doctor  turned 
them  up. 

“  I  am  Mr.  Cavello,”  said  the  stranger,  stand¬ 
ing  in  the  middle  of  the  room  and  bowing. 
“  Mrs.  St.  John,  she  has  sent  me  to  have  Miss 
Leslie  home.” 

“I  told  Pomp  to  come  for  me,”  said  Leslie, 
from  the  dark  corner. 

Mr.  Cavello  turned  toward  her  eagerly.  “Your 
aunt  needed  Pomp,  Miss  Leslie.” 

“  Then  why  didn’t  the  boys  come  ?  ”  she  asked. 
“  I  told  Pomp  to  send  them,  if  he  was  busy.” 


32  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


“Myself  wanted  to  come,”  said  Mr.  Cavello, 
standing  near  her,  and  looking  straight  into  her 
eyes,  as  if  no  one  else  was  in  the  room.  “  I 
wanted  to  come.” 

“I’m  not  going  now,”  said  Leslie,  turning  her 
head  away  almost  rudely. 

Mrs.  Douglas,  to  break  the  awkward  silence, 
introduced  Mr.  Cavello  to  the  young  ladies,  who 
were  quite  ready  to  be  diverted  by  this  addition 
to  their  circle. 

Leslie  slipped  away  to  the  other  sofa,  and 
seated  herself  by  the  Doctor,  with  a  little  smile 
which  said  so  plainly,  “  May  I  ?  ”  that  the  good 
Doctor  shook  up  the  sofa  pillow,  and  said,  “  Cer¬ 
tainly,  my  dear,  —  certainly.” 

Then  Tom  came,  and  asked  her  about  her 
songs,  and  she  brightened  in  spite  of  the  dark 
looks  which  Mr.  Cavello  sent  toward  her,  and 
Miss  Henderson’s  open  endeavors  to  entice  Tom 
to  her  side. 

Soon  Mr.  Cavello  was  absorbed  in  Miss  Went¬ 
worth’s  playing,  and  offered  to  sing  a  Spanish 
song  with  the  guitar;  and  he  showed  Miss  Hen¬ 
derson  the  accompaniment,  “turn,  turn,  turn;” 
then  the  minor  chord,  “la,  la,  la,  la,  la.”  —  “  You 
see  how  it  runs.”  Then  he  wrote  the  words 
for  Miss  Wentworth,  who  was  delighted  with 
the  air. 

It  was  charming  music.  Mr.  Cavello’s  voice 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK .  33 


was  rich,  and  the  dainty  tinkle  of  the  guitar 
seemed  like  the  sound  of  far-off  water. 

Miss  Wentworth  said  that,  if  she  shut  her 
eyes,  she  could  see  a  Spanish  girl  dancing  in  the 
sunshine,  with  a  rose  in  her  hair  and  a  lace  scarf 
flying. 

“  Miss  Leslie,  she  can  dance  to  my  music,  and 
make  a  prettier  picture  to  your  open  eyes,”  said 
Mr.  Cavello,  turning  toward  her.  “  Come,  Miss 
Leslie,  you  have  a  red  shawl  there.” 

The  color  faded  from  Leslie’s  cheeks ;  her 
pretty  enthusiasm  was  gone. 

“I  cannot  dance  to  your  music,  Mr.  Cavello,” 
she  said.  “I’m  not  a  Spanish  girl, —  I  don’t 
know  how.” 

The  girls  begged  her  to  dance  ;  but  she  shut 
her  lips  tightly  and  shook  her  head,  and  they 
saw  that  it  was  of  no  use  to  urge  her. 

While  Mr.  Cavello  was  tuning  the  guitar,  the 
bell  rang  furiously  again,  and  the  hall  was  filled 
with  boys’  voices.  The  little  St.  Johns  had 
arrived  in  full  force  ! 

“  Mrs.  Douglas,”  said  Arthur,  coming  forward 
in  his  graceful  way,  “Pomp  sent  us  for  Leslie.” 

“  But  I  am  come  for  her,  too,”  said  Mr.  Ca¬ 
vello.  “You  may  go  back”  —  A  third  ring 
drowned  his  words.  A  servant  hurried  to  the  door. 

“  Is  Massa  Cavello  here  ?  ”  said  a  funny  little 
voice.  “  Is  Massa  Arthur  here,  an’  Massa  Wil- 

3 


34  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


frid  here,  an’  Massa  Clar’nce  here,  an’  Miss 
Leslie  here  ?  ”  And  Jasper  appeared  at  the 
parlor  door. 

“Who  sent  you  here,  Jasper  ?  ”  said  Arthur. 
“  Go  home  !  ” 

“  My  gran’fa’  told  me  to  come  an’  see  ’f  yer ’d 
minded  him,  to  come  fur  Miss  Leslie.  He 
s’pected  yer ’d  done  gone  off  to  de  theatre,  an’ 
forgot  Miss  Leslie;  an’  she  said  how’t  she’d 
never  go  home,  never,  if  Massa  Cavello  corned 
fur  her.” 

“Well,  we  did  come,”  said  Wilfrid;  “but 
we  ’re  going  home,  and  Mr.  Cavello  is  going  to 
take  her  back.” 

“  My  gran’fa’  said  how’t  Massa  Cavello  warn’t 
fur  to  take  her  home,”  said  Jasper. 

“  Go  home  yourself,  and  tell  Pomp  to  mind 
his  own  business,”  said  Arthur,  shutting  the 
parlor  door  in  Jasper’s  face,  and  quietly  seating 
himself,  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

“  Please  go  on  with  your  music.  I ’m  very  sorry 
to  have  interrupted  you,  ladies,”  he  said. 

“  Oh,  dear  !  ”  whispered  Leslie  to  Tom,  who  was 
still  by  her.  “  Oh,  dear,  I  am  so,  so  sorry  !  Your 
mother  will  never  invite  me  here  again.  I ’d 
rather  have  gone  with  Mr.  Cavello  than  to  have 
had  them  all  act  so.” 

The  boys  sat  quietly  for  a  while,  and  then,  see¬ 
ing  that  this  was  no  party,  and  that  no  ice-cream 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  35 


was  forthcoming,  bade  the  family  good-night, 
and  ran  oj.it  without  one  word  to  Leslie. 

The  girls  were  delighted  with  the  new  music, 
and  begged  Mr.  Cavello  to  give  them  another 
song. 

Tom  took  Leslie  into  the  back  parlor  to  show 
her  a  picture  he  had  been  telling  her  about.  It 
was  a  bit  of  clover-field ;  and  in  a  cleared  place 
in  the  foreground  two  little  fairies,  with  pale 
blue  wings,  were  “  teetering”  on  a  blade  of  grass 
thrown  across  a  strawberry  plant. 

Leslie  was  pleased  with  it. 

“  The  lady  who  painted  that  dreamed  it  first, 
I  know,”  she  said. 

“But  it  wasn’t  a  lady,  at  all,”  said  Tom:  “it 
was  a  young  man,  a  friend  of  mine,  —  Bob 
Simpson.  He  lives  abroad  now.  I  wish  I 
could  show  you  his  pictures.  They  are  very 
funny,  —  many  of  them.  He ’s  making  money 
fast.  Funny  pictures  sell,  —  people  like  to  be 
amused.” 

“  I  think  I  should  get  tired  of  a  funny  pict¬ 
ure,”  said  Leslie.  “  I  couldn’t  laugh  very  long 
at  it.  I ’d  rather  borrow  one,  and  send  it  home 
again.  But  I  don’t  know  any  thing  about  pict¬ 
ures,  as  you  do.” 

“Do  you  remember  Hamon’s  ‘Autumn,’  or 
the  ‘  Tw'light  ’  ?  ”  asked  Tom. 

“No,”  said  Leslie.  She  did  not  like  sentences 


36  THE  COLONEL’S  OPERA  CLOAK . 


beginning,  “  Do  you  remember  ?  ”  or  “  Do  you 
know  ?  ” 

“  They  are  dainty  little  things.  I  know  you ’d 
like  them.  I  ’ll  bring  you  the  photographs  some 
day,”  he  went  on. 

How  delightful !  So  there  was  to  be  a  “some 
day  ”  to  look  forward  to. 

Neither  of  these  young  people  was  saying  any 
thing  remarkable  ;  but  they  were  very  much  in¬ 
terested  in  what  they  said.  Tom  was  handsome, 
and  was  making  himself  agreeable  to  the  dark, 
slender  girl,  who  looked  at  him  with  shy  admir¬ 
ing  eyes.  He  liked  that  better  than  any  fine 
thing  she  could  have  said ;  and  she  would  not 
have  exchanged  him  for  the  most  learned  man 
in  the  world. 

“  If  you  don’t  join  us  soon,”  said  Gertrude 
Henderson,  looking  in  and  shaking  her  head  at 
Tom,  “  I  ’ll  punish  you  !  I  ’ll  sing  ‘  Silver  threads 
among  the  golden,’  or  ‘  Taking  the  year  together, 
my  dear,’  or  ‘  O  father,  dear  father,  come  home 
to  us  now.’  ”  And  she  looked  so  handsome  and 
spoke  so  bewitchingly  that  Leslie  wondered  how 
he  could  help  going  to  her. 

“Or  ‘Darling,  kiss  my  eyelids  down,’”  said 
Bessie,  coming  in  and  laughing. 

“  I  can  kiss  my  own  eyelids  down  very  well, 
thank  you,”  said  Tom.  “  If  you  ’ll  find  some  dar¬ 
ling  to  kiss  them  up  for  me  in  the  morning,  I  ’ll 
be  much  obliged  to  you.” 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  37 


“  Why  don’t  you  go  back?”  said  Leslie.  “I 
am  taking  too  much  of  your  time,  —  you  are  so 
kind.” 

“  I ’m  never  kind.  I  am  always  selfish,  and 
please  myself,”  said  the  young  fellow,  looking 
down  at  her.  “  I  stay  here  because  I  like  to. 
I  don’t  believe  Mr.  Cavello  thinks  I ’m  very 
kind.” 

When  little  Jasper  was  shut  out  of  the  parlor, 
he  had  seated  himself  at  the  back  of  the  hall  to 
enjoy  the  music  ;  and,  lulled  by  it,  and  soothed 
by  the  warmth  from  the  register  near  him,  he 
nodded  off  to  sleep. 

Suddenly  he  awoke.  The  music  had  ceased. 
The  opera  cloak  and  a  little  hat  hung  on  the  rack 
beside  him.  He  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  remem¬ 
bered  where  he  was.  Forgetting  that  he  had 
run  off  bare-headed,  he  snatched  the  hat  from  the 
peg,  threw  the  well-known  cloak  about  him,  and 
dashed  past  the  open  parlor  door  at  full  speed. 

Mr.  Cavello  looked  over  his  shoulder.  The  fly¬ 
ing  cape  caught  his  eye,  and  at  the  sound  of  the 
closing  door  he  sprang  from  his  seat,  caught  his 
coat  and  hat  from  the  hall  table,  and  '‘slam” 
went  the  door  behind  him. 

None  of  the  others  had  seen  Jasper’s  flight, 
and  so  they  were  all  wonder-struck  at  Mr. 
Cavello’ s  sudden  departure. 

“Perhaps  there’s  ‘Spanish  leave,’  as  well 


38  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK . 


as  ‘French  leave/”  said  Bessie.  “Perhaps  he 
couldn’t  bear  to  say  good-by:  some  people 
can’t.”  Then  she  burst  out  laughing.  It  was 
certainly  very  funny;  and  Grace  laughed,  and 
they  all  laughed  until  the  tears  ran  down 
their  cheeks. 

Tom  and  Leslie  came  from  the  back  parlor  to 
share  the  fun.  Mr.  Cavello  was  gone,  and  the 
family  were  crying  with  laughter.  No  one  could 
explain. 

“  Mr.  Cavello”  —  said  Bessie,  and  went  off  into 
another  spasm. 

“Mr.  Cavello” — said  Grace  Wentworth,  and 
then  words  failed  her. 

“  Of  all  your  attendants,  Miss  Leslie,”  said 
Tom,  “  I  am  the  only  one  left.  You  ’ll  let  me 
go  home  with  you,  when  you  go,  won’t  you  ?  ” 

“  Thank  you,”  said  Leslie  ;  “  but  I  ’m  ashamed 
of  all  this  trouble.  I  must  go  now.”  And  she 
bade  them  good-night,  and  went  with  Bessie 
into  the  hall.  The  opera  cloak  was  gone, — so 
was  Clarence’s  hat !  They  sought  them  every¬ 
where  in  vain. 

“Perhaps  the  boys  took  them,”  said  Leslie. 

“  No,”  said  Tom,  “  I  saw  the  boys  go  out. 
Mr.  Cavello,  perhaps  ?  ” 

“No,”  said  Bessie.  “His  hat  was  on  the 
table.  He  caught  it  on  the  wing.” 

The  cloak  and  hat  were  nowhere  to  be  found. 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  39 


So  Bessie  lent  Leslie  a  pink  cloud,  —  oh,  how 
pretty  she  looked  in  it!  —  and  a  heavy  shawl, 
and  Tom  opened  the  door. 

There  stood  Pomp,  his  white  eyes  shining. 

“  The  boys  ain’t  come  home,  nor  Jasper  ain’t 
come  home,  an’  I  was  afeard  Miss  Leslie  wouldn’t 
come  with  Massa  Cavello,  so  I  come  along  my¬ 
self.” 

They  told  him  of  the  disappearance  of  the 
cloak  and  of  Mr.  Cavello. 

Pomp  shook  his  head:  it  was  too  deep  for 
him. 

“  Now  you  ’ll  have  just  the  escort  you  wanted,” 
said  Miss  Henderson’s  smooth  voice  ;  but  Tom 
said  he  must  go  too,  to  see  that  every  thing  was 
right.  He  tucked  Leslie’s  hand  in  his  arm, 
much  to  the  delight  of  Pomp,  who  ambled  on 
behind,  proud  of  his  darling’s  conquest. 

Mr.  Cavello  had  seen  Leslie  leave  home  at 
dusk,  arrayed  in  the  opera  cloak  and  Clarence’s 
hat;  and  so,  when  the  flying  red  cape  caught  his 
eye  in  the  Doctor’s  hall,  he  thought  the  girl  was 
slipping  away  from  him  with  his  rival,  and,  his 
hot  blood  rising,  he  flew  after  her. 

He  had  hardly  run  a  block,  when  he  saw  that 
the  cloak  was  worn  by  a  boy,  and  that  boy,  John 
Jasper.  Jasper  was  running  at  full  speed  ;  but, 
hearing  quick  steps  behind,  he  turned  and  saw 
Mr.  Cavello  making  after  him. 


40  THE  COLONEL’S  OPERA  CLOAK . 


Terror  lent  him  wings,  and  on  he  rushed. 
What  could  Mr.  Cavello  want  but  to  shake  him  ? 
And  that  was  what  Mr.  Cavello  certainly  did 
want. 

Up  and  down  and  through  narrow  streets  Mr. 
Cavello  chased  the  little  black  boy,  who  dodged 
and  hid,  and  finally  fled  into  a  dark  alley  and 
eluded  the  enraged  lover. 

“  I  ’ll  break  every  bone  into  his  body,”  said  Mr, 
Cavello,  “  when  I  do  catch  him  !  ”  But  he  did 
not  catch  him  ! 

As  he  reached  the  steps  of  the  St.  Johns’ 
house  from  one  direction,  Tom,  Pomp  and 
Leslie  approached  from  the  other.  They  hung 
back  until  he  had  gone  in  ;  and  then  little  Jas¬ 
per  appeared,  out  of  breath  and  panting,  and  told 
how  Mr.  Cavello  had  chased  him,  and  he  “  hadn’t 
done  nothin’.”  Jasper  wore  the  cloak  and  hat, 
and  so  it  was  all  explained  ;  and  Tom  was  able 
to  clear  up  the  mystery  for  the  ladies  on  his 
return. 

Leslie  said  she  should  love  the  Colonel’s  opera 
cloak  for  ever,  because  it  had  saved  her  from 
Mr.  Cavello’s  escort. 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK .  41 


CHAPTER  III. 

^I  ^OM  had  met  Leslie  many  times  in  the  street 
since  the  tea-party,  and  had  walked  home 
with  her.  He  thought  her  the  very  sweetest 
girl  he  had  ever  seen,  but  he  reflected  that  often 
before  he  had  met  “  the  very  sweetest  girl,”  and 
then  had  changed  his  mind.  “  But  this  is  differ¬ 
ent,”  said  the  young  fellow  to  himself:  “she 
seems  to  belong  to  me,  somehow.” 

He  called  on  her  one  afternoon  to  give  her  the 
photographs  he  had  promised.  “  I  have  some¬ 
thing  else,”  he  said.  “My  friend  John  Acker¬ 
man,  who  paints  so  beautifully,  has  the  nicest 
wife !  I  ’ll  take  you  there  some  day.”  What, 
another  “  some  day,”  thought  Leslie.  “  I  took 
tea  with  them  the  other  evening,  and  she  gave 
me  two  little  poems  about  these  very  pictures, — 
they  are  favorites  of  hers,  it  seems,  — and  I  have 
brought  them  to  you.  Do  you  care  for  verses  ?  ” 
“  Yes,”  said  Leslie,  “  I  like  just  to  say  my  songs 
over  for  the  sake  of  the  words.  And  does  Mrs. 
Ackerman  paint,  too  ?  I  wonder  if  she  loves  to 


42  THE  COLONEL’S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


make  pictures  and  poetry?  I  wish  you’d  ask  her 
some  time.  I  don’t  know  anybody  who  makes 
poetry.  I’m  so  sorry  in  the  spring  and  summer 
that  I  can’t  say  how  lovely  it  is.” 

“  She  doesn’t  call  this  poetry  :  she  said  they 
were  rhymes,”  said  Tom. 

“I’d  like  to  paint,”  said  Leslie;  “only  I’d 
have  to  paint  splendidly,  I  suppose,  to  enjoy  it.” 

“  I  don’t  know  that.  I  know  an  old  fellow  in 
town  who  paints  —  I  couldn’t  say  horribly,  for 
the  drawing  is  pretty  good,  and  I ’ve  seen  worse 
color ;  but  the  very  thing  that  ought  to  be 
there  isn’t  there.  His  landscapes  never  make 
me  feel 

‘  I  have  been  here  before, 

But  how  or  when  I  cannot  tell.* 

His  portraits  never  make  me  say 

‘As  if  her  image  in  a  glass 
Had  tarried  when  herself  had  gone/  ” 

Leslie  thought  Tom  was  making  it  up,  quota¬ 
tions  and  all,  and  she  listened  with  admiration. 

“  Do  people  buy  the  old  man’s  pictures  ?  ” 

“Oh,  once  in  a  while, — often  enough  to  keep 
him  from  starving.  He  lives  behind  a  green 
baize  screen  in  his  studio,  which  is  a  forlorn  little 
room,  close  under  the  roof.  He  cooks  his  own 
food,  and  mends  his  own  clothes,  and  sleeps  in 
some  kind  of  a  sofa  thing,  which  he  makes  up  at 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK.  43 


bed-time.  The  artists  feel  sorry  for  him.  They 
help  him  along ;  and  they  love  him,  too,  for  his 
enthusiasm.  He  thinks  next  year  and  next  year 
he’ll  be  a  great  painter.” 

“Isn’t  it  strange,”  said  Leslie,  “that  he  has 
such  enthusiasm  for  an  art  he  has  no  genius 
for !  ” 

“Ackerman  says  he  has  talent  for  business, 
but  he ’d  rather  starve,  as  a  painter,  than  earn  a 
good  income  in  any  other  way.  He  has  a  patient 
look  on  his  face  that  is  very  touching,  —  poor  old 
Thompson  !  I  bought  a  picture  of  him  once,  and 
gave  it  to  a  hospital.  I  hope  it  didn’t  harm  any 
of  the  patients.  I ’ve  wondered  whether  each 
picture  disappoints  him,  or  whether  he  only  thinks 
the  world  is  dull  at  recognizing  genius.” 

Leslie  was  touched  by  this  description. 
“Where  does  he  live?”  she  asked.  “I’ll  get 
Uncle  to  buy  some  pictures  of  him,  —  they’d 
do  for  us; — we  don’t  know  as  much  about 
pictures  as  you  do.” 

“  They  wouldn’t  answer  for  you,”  said  Tom. 
“You  are  so  quick  to  see  beautiful  things  that 
they  would  vex  you  all  the  time.  You  would 
know  a  good  from  a  bad  picture,  I  am  sure.” 

Leslie  was  delighted  with  the  praise.  “  Well, 
if  we  didn’t  like  his  landscapes,”  she  said, 
“  Uncle  might  have  the  boys’  portraits  taken, 
and  mine.” 


44  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK . 


“  Heaven  forbid  !  ”  said  Tom  ;  and  then  he 
laughed  to  think  of  the  simper  which  Thompson 
would  invent  for  Leslie’s  mouth.  “  He  must  have 
known  Susan  Fields  sometime,  I  think.  I  went 
to  school  to  her  when  I  was  a  little  chap.  She 
wore  a  long  curl  behind  each  ear,  and  she  used 
to  snap  me  on  my  head  with  her  thimble.  The 
art-instruction  she  gave  me  was  that,  if  I  wanted 
to  make  a  face  smile,  I  must  turn  the  corners  of 
the  mouth  up  ;  if  I  wanted  a  desponding  expres¬ 
sion,  I  must  turn  them  down.  What  stuff  !  ”  said 
Tom,  bursting  into  a  laugh  at  the  recollection. 

“  Your  friend  Mr.  Ackerman  gets  a  great  deal 
of  money  for  his  pictures,  I  suppose,”  said  Les¬ 
lie  :  “  he  paints  good  portraits,  doesn’t  he  ?  ” 

“Perfect,”  said  Tom.  “  I ’d  like  to  have  him 
paint  you.  He  asked  me  if  he  might  do  so  for 
the  Exhibition ;  but  I  shouldn’t  like  to  have 
your  face  there,  for  people  to  make  their 
idiotic  comments  on.” 

Tom  stopped.  What  right  had  he  to  Leslie’s 
face  ? 

“  Why,  when  did  he  see  me  ?  ”  asked  Leslie, 
in  surprise. 

“  One  day  when  we  were  walking.  He  wants 
you  to  come  to  his  studio.” 

“  What  could  he  want  me  for  in  a  picture  ?  ” 
said  Leslie.  “  Doesn’t  he  know  Miss  Henderson  ? 
She’s  splendid,  I  think,  —  she’s  so  handsome.” 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK .  45 


Tom  couldn’t  help  laughing.  Ackerman 
wanted  a  face  for  the  line, 

“I  never  loved  but  ain.” 

Gertrude  Henderson  !  she  would  be  a  model 
for  a  genre  picture,  in  a  long-trained  French  dress, 
looking  over  her  shoulder  into  a  mirror,  or  chirp¬ 
ing  to  a  parrot  in  a  dainty  boudoir. 

“  You  haven’t  read  the  verses,”  said  Tom. 
“  Do  you  see?  This  young  lady  in  the  picture, 
with  her  hand  over  her  eyes,  is  Miss  Autumn, 
killing  the  flowers.  The  young  gentleman 
behind  is  Indian  Summer,  giving  them  another 
chance.” 

“I  like  this,”  said  Leslie,  reading:  — 

The  foolish  leaves,  who  long  to  follow 
The  southward  flitting  of  the  swallow  !  ’  ” 

“  I  like  to  play  that  flowers  and  leaves  are  alive, 
and  know  all  that  we  do,  and  are  sorry  and  glad, 
and  have  friends,  and  all  that.” 

“  Mrs.  Ackerman’s  cousin  married  Simpson, 
who  painted  the  fairy  picture  you  liked,”  said 
Tom. 

“  And  does  his  wife  paint,  too  ?  ”  asked  little 
Leslie,  pitifully.  Did  all  the  ladies  Tom  knew 
play  and  paint  and  write  poetry,  she  asked  her¬ 
self. 

“  No,  she  is  only  bright  and  helpful  to  have 


46  THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK. 


about,”  said  Tom.  “Simpson  calls  her  ‘Daily 
Food.’  ” 

“  That ’s  a  very  nice  name  to  be  called,”  said 
Leslie.  “  What  does  Mr.  Ackerman  call  his 
wife  ?  ” 

“  I  don’t  know,  —  Mary,  I  believe.  They  don’t 
do  their  love-making  before  people,  as  the  Simp¬ 
sons  do.  But  Ackerman  was  glad  enough  to 
get  his  wife.  I  know  they  had  a  very  romantic 
story.  Mrs.  Simpson  told  it  to  me.” 

“I  wish  you’d  read  this  aloud  to  me,”  said 
Leslie,  holding  out  the  verses  :  — 

“  ‘High  up,  upon  the  windy  hill, 

Swingeth  a  little  Wild-rose  still: 

None  had  been  seen  for  many  a  morn 
d  ill  the  chill  hour  when  this  was  born. 

It  swingeth  east,  it  swingeth  west, 

It  has  no  time  for  idle  rest, 

For  never  hath  a  Wild-rose  seen 
d  he  world  in  aught  save  summer  green, 

And  Sumach  clump  and  Maple  bough 
With  autumn’s  fires  are  burning  now. 

To  share  the  Rose’s  lucky  lot, 

Blooms  the  last  blue  Forget-me-not ; 

And  these  two  marvel  much,  I  wis, 

To  see  such  wondrous  sights  as  this, — 

Like  drifts  of  rain-clouds  through  the  sky 
The  birds  at  eve  go  hurrying  by  ; 
d  he  bright  leaves  flutter  on  the  wind, 

As  ill  content  to  stay  behind,  — 

The  foolish  leaves,  who  long  to  follow 
The  southward  flitting  of  the  swallow  ! 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK.  47 


At  eve  came  Autumn  to  the  hill, 

Where  swung  the  little  Wild-rose  still, 
Where  bloomed  the  blue  Forget-me-not 
Beside  it,  in  a  sheltered  spot. 

Like  morning  mist  they  saw  her  pass, 

Nor  stepped  she  on  the  crisp  brown  grass. 
The  West  Wind  met  her  coming  down, 
And  flew  to  bear  her  trailing  gown, 

Within  whose  folds  the  Summer’s  fair 
Last  flowers  she  bore  with  tender  care, — 
The  purple  Aster  wet  with  dew, 

The  Goldenrod  and  Feverfew  ; 

And  gathered  spears  of  golden  wheat 
From  brown  wild  grasses  at  her  feet. 


She  droops  her  head  with  plaintive  grace 
fo  hide  her  tearful  eyes  and  face, 

As  deeming  that  an  evil  hour 
Which  marks  the  blighting  of  a  flower. 
Then  on  the  little  bloom  of  blue 
A  hollow  golden  cone  she  threw, 

And  on  the  Wild-rose,  freshly  blown, 
Another  little  golden  cone. 

She  lays  her  hands  across  her  eyes, 

Nor  waits  to  hear  their  parting  sighs 


As  in  the  sunshine  sails  the  mote, 
See  Indian  Summer  idly  float  — 

A  baby  summer,  sweet  and  fair  — 
Delicious  languors  on  the  air 
And  keen,  fresh  odors  from  the  field. 
A  silvery  mist  the  meadows  yield 
To  veil  the  hills  no  longer  fair, 

And  throw  o’er  all  a  dreamland  air. 


48  THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK . 


His  golden  rod  with  certain  sway 
Uplifts  the  golden  cones  away. 

“  I ’ve  slept,”  said  little  Rose,  “  and  what 
Did’st  thou,  my  dear  Forget-me-not  ?  ” 

A  little  child  went  singing  by, 

In  childish  treble  clear  and  high, 

**  Sweet  is  the  day  the  Lord  was  born, 

And  sweet  the  resurrection  morn.” 

Clearer  and  clearer  trilled  her  voice, 

“  ’T  is  the  Lord’s  day,  let  all  rejoice  !  ” 

She  took  the  path  across  the  hill,  — 

“  Forget-me-not  and  Wild-rose  still  ? 

O  joy  !  The  mill-maid  need  not  go 
Without  the  flowers  she  longs  for  so.” 


The  little  maiden  in  the  mill 

Lay  on  her  bed  so  white  and  still,  — 

So  white  and  still,  she  well  might  seem 
A  moonlight  maiden  in  a  dream. 

“  Forget-me-not  and  love’s  own  red  ! 

The  Lord  hath  sent  them  me,”  she  said. 
When  the  last  light  had  left  the  west, 

The  dead  flowers  lay  on  her  dead  breast.’  ” 


“Now  read  the  other,”  said  Leslie.  “It  is 
lovely  to  know  the  story  of  a  picture.  Does 
its  name  mean  twilight,  did  you  say  ?  ” 

Tom  read  on.  What  is  more  delightful  than 
an  audience  of  one,  when  that  one  is  a  pretty  girl 
with  soft,  dark  eyes  ? 

Tom  looked  up  once  in  awhile  to  see  if  Leslie 
was  listening. 


TflE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK .  49 


“Before  the  little  candle’s  light 
Had  showed  the  darkness  of  the  night, 
When  slowly  home,  in  full  content. 

The  cows  through  herby  pastures  went, 

The  little  herd-girl  saw  a  sight 
Which  filled  her  with  a  strange  delight  : 

The  grassy  hill  rose  black  and  high 
On  the  pale  background  of  the  sky  ; 

There  like  a  fire  of  glowing  red 
The  scarlet  Poppy  waved  its  head  ; 

There,  when  the  air  was  dead  and  still, 

In  village  streets  below  the  hill, 

The  little  breezes  danced  all  night, 

And  frolicked  in  the  still  moonlight. 

She  saw,  as  in  a  magic  boat, 

The  Spirit  of  the  Twilight  float  ; 

Clear  on  her  brow,  she  saw  the  fair 
White  star  of  evening  gleaming  there  ; 

Her  fluttering  mantle  folded  tight, 

To  cheat  the  chilly  dews  of  night. 

A  North  Wind,  fiercely  rushing  there, 

Had  sought  to  bear  her  through  the  air  ; 

He  caught  her  in  his  rude  embrace, 

And  showered  wild  kisses  on  her  face. 

Then  came  an  East  Wind,  sweeping  down 
From  wearied  sick  folk  in  the  town  ; 

He  tore  her  mantle  wide  apart, 

And  strove  to  chill  her  glowing  heart. 

A  West  Wind  to  her  rescue  flew, 

But  what  could  he  between  the  two  ? 

A  wind  in  silence  from  the  south 
Laid  tender  kisses  on  her  mouth, 

Her  trembling  limbs  he  closer  drew, 

Round  her  his  warm,  strong  arms  he  threw. 
And,  folded  in  a  close  embrace, 

With  heart  to  heart  and  face  to  face, 

They  floated  till  the  black  of  night 


4 


50  THE  COLONEL'' S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


Had  shut  the  star -gleam  from  her  sight 
The  little  maiden,  shy  with  awe, 

Told  not  her  mother  what  she  saw  ; 

And,  when  the  next  morn  shed  its  gleam, 
She  smiled,  and  thought  it  all  a  dream. 

A  painter,  sketching  in  the  shade, 

Held  converse  with  the  little  maid, 

And  from  his  glowing  colors  drew 
This  picture,  beautiful  as  true. 

With  quiet  face  and  earnest  eyes, 

The  child  looked  on  in  still  surprise. 

So  wonderful  a  thing  it  seemed 
To  paint  the  colors  she  had  dreamed. 

Then  one  who  loved  the  picture  well 
Sought  in  a  simple  rhyme  to  tell 
(As  tints  reflected  in  a  pool) 

The  story  of  La  Crepuscule.” 


Oh,  what  a  voice  Tom  had  !  It  was  made  on 
purpose  to  read  poetry  with,  Leslie  thought. 

She  pinned  the  photographs  on  the  wall  of  her 
room,  and  learned  the  verses  by  heart. 

Some  time  after  this,  Tom  took  Leslie  to  the 
studio.  It  was  in  Mr.  Ackerman’s  house.  Oh, 
such  a  beautiful  house  !  The  doorways  were 
curtained,  and  there  were  china  plates  on  the 
wall.  That  almost  made  Leslie  laugh.  The 
furniture  had  tiles  set  in  it,  and  it  was  painted 
beautifully,  and  looked  just  as  if  it  belonged 
to  the  house,  —  as  indeed  it  did.  Mr.  Acker¬ 
man  had  designed  every  piece. 


THE  COLONEL'S  OP  EE  A  CLOAK.  51 


Leslie  had  never  been  in  a  studio  before,  and 
she  was  delighted  with  the  old  furniture,  the  rugs 
and  tapestry,  the  vases,  and  all  the  odd  things 
which  made  up  the  orderly  disorder. 

And  Mrs.  Ackerman  was  so  lovely,  —  no,  not 
lovely,  — so  charming.  She  took  the  young  girl 
around  the  room,  and  told  her  about  the  pretty 
things,  and  made  her  forget  herself  altogether. 

She  “gauged”  Leslie,  as  she  called  it,  with 
a  little  portfolio  of  pictures.  Leslie  nodded  as 
she  turned  them  over,  and  said,  “  That ’s  lovely  !  ” 
or  “  Oh,  how  pretty  !  ”  At  last,  Mrs.  Ackerman 
came  to  a  picture  of  a  wide  plain  without  a  tree. 
On  the  far  horizon  the  great  moon  was  rising. 
A  shepherd  followed  by  his  flock  was  going 
toward  the  moon.  There  was  very  little  color  in 
the  picture. 

“  Oh !  ”  said  Leslie,  with  a  long-drawn  sigh  ; 
and  she  looked  up  with  brightening  eyes  at  Mrs. 
Ackerman. 

There  was  another,  of  a  barren  shore,  with  a 
flock  of  birds  flying  away  off  toward  a  little  sun¬ 
light  which  gleamed  through  the  gray  clouds ; 
and  one,  of  a  pure  sky,  and  apple-trees  in  blos¬ 
som.  These  were  Leslie’s  favorites. 

While  Mr.  Ackerman  was  showing  Leslie  his 
old-fashioned  costumes,  Mrs.  Ackerman  took 
Tom  into  her  cosey  corner. 

“  She  is  sweet  and  sincere,  ’’she  said.  “  I  hope 


52  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


you  ’ll  bring  her  again.  I  covet  her  face  for  one 
of  John’s  pictures.  I  tested  her  with  my  gauging 
portfolio,  and  she  bore  it  bravely.  It  was  a  pleas¬ 
ure  to  see  the  child  divine  the  best  things  ;  and 
she  has  never  seen  pictures,  you  say  ?  ” 

“  No,”  said  Tom,  “  but  she  seems  intuitively 
to  choose  the  best  in  every  thing.” 

“  Does  she  ?  ”  said  Mrs.  Ackerman,  laughing. 
Tom  wanted  to  kiss  her,  he  was  so  grateful  to 
her.  Leslie  little  knew  why  he  sang  his  friend’s 
praises  all  the  way  home. 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  53 


CHAPTER  IV. 

r  I  ''HE  winter  passed  on,  enlivened  by  various 
“*•  events  in  the  family  on  Margrave  Street. 

“What  about  the  St.  Johns  now?”  was  often 
the  question,  at  tea-time,  at  the  Doctor’s.  The 
St.  Johns  were  always  getting  into  trouble;  and 
they  dragged  the  Douglas  family  into  it,  in  one 
way  or  another. 

The  boys  “  made  believe  ”  go  to  school,  but 
played  truant  half  the  time.  Work  of  any  sort 
was  not  for  the  noble  young  scions  of  a  house  of 
the  “Chivalry.”  Until  a  royal  road  to  learning  was 
discovered,  learning  was  relegated  to  “muckers,” 
as  these  young  gentlemen  styled  the  Northern 
boys. 

Living  in  the  streets  as  they  did,  it  was  little 
wonder  that  they  made  strange  acquaintances. 
A  great  lazy  fellow,  seeing  how  freely  they  threw 
away  money,  once  urged  them  into  a  partner¬ 
ship  in  a  pop-beer  and  peanut  stand.  When 
Leslie  found  it  out,  she  cried ;  but  Mrs.  St. 
John  laughed.  It  struck  her  like  a  prank  of 
young  princes. 


54  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


“  They  ’ll  only  lose  money.  They  won’t  make 
a  cent,”  she  said,  as  if  the  only  harm  could  be  in 
making  money. 

Arthur  St.  John  complimented  little  Ned 
Douglas  by  confiding  to  him  some  coarse  yellow 
and  green  handbills,  with  instructions  to  ride  in 
the  different  horse-cars,  and  to  hand  the  bills  to 
the  passengers  and  throw  them  from  the  windows. 
He  was  to  spend  his  own  money  for  fares,  and 
take  his  pay  in  pop-beer  and  peanuts,  so  the 
“  pardner  ”  suggested. 

The  stand  was  in  one  of  the  business  streets ; 
and  “Jim  Kelly”  turned  many  a  penny,  while 
the  St.  John  boys  had  only  the  excitement  and 
the  peanuts. 

Tom  saw  his  little  brother  one  day  standing 
on  a  corner,  giving  away  handbills.  He  took 
him  by  the  ear,  and  walked  him  into  a  doorway. 

“You  little  villain !  said  he,  reading  one  of 
the  bills,  “  what  are  you  up  to  ?  Didn’t  I  tell 
you  not  to  play  with  those  St.  John  boys,  nor  to 
go  to  their  house  ?  ” 

“You  go  there  yourself,”  whined  little  Ned, 
wriggling  out  of  his  big  brother’s  clutches.  “  You 
go  to  see  Leslie  yourself  !  The  boys  say  you  do. 
But  Mr.  Cavello ’s  going  to  take  her  away.  She 
won’t  have  you  !  Let  me  go  !  ” 

“  What  do  you  think  mother  will  say  to  you  ? 
I  fancy  that  the  spanking  days  are  not  over  yet, 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  55 


my  young  friend,”  said  Tom,  with  unnecessary 
fervor.  “  Come  with  me !  ” 

Tom  made  Ned  give  the  handbills  to  Mr. 
Kelly,  of  the  pop-beer  stand,  and  paid  him  a 
quarter  for  the  peanuts  the  young  “  drummer  ” 
had  taken  out  for  pay. 

“  Let  me  see  your  license  !  ”  said  he. 

The  big  fellow  was  scared,  and  confessed  that 
he  had  none. 

“  If  this  isn’t  shut  up  to-morrow,  I  ’ll  see  you 
in  court,  my  friend,”  said  Tom. 

When  the  St.  Johns,  with  mouths  prepared  for 
peanuts,  joyfully  repaired  to  the  corner  the  next 
morning,  the  stand,  the  boy,  the  pop-beer,  pea¬ 
nuts  and  handbills  had  vanished  like  a  vision  of 
the  night. 

One  day  Pomp  appeared  at  the  Doctor’s,  with 
a  large  tray  containing  a  Southern  breakfast, 
—  hoe-cake,  hominy  and  bacon. 

“  Missus  sends  her  compl’ments,”  said  the  old 
fellow.  “She  ain’t  very  well.  She’s  an  infidel 
sometimes.  No,  not  ’zacldy  an  infidel,  neither. 
She  gits  well  mostly  when  dare ’s  new  dresses, 
or  suthin’  goin’  on,  or  de  Colonel  comes  home. 
I  cooked  dis  on  purpose  for  yer.” 

Pomp  had  brought  the  waiter  through  the 
streets  uncovered,  with  the  Colonel’s  opera  cloak, 
which  was  hooked  round  his  neck,  flapping  its 


56  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


red  wings  on  either  side  as  he  walked,  like  a  great 
flamingo. 

Bessie  wondered  how  they  had  lived  before  the 
St.  Johns  came  to  enliven  their  dull  days.  The 
Southern  breakfast  was  set  on  the  sideboard  foi 
Tom,  as  a  sample  of  what  Leslie’s  husband  would 
have  to  eat. 

“  It’s  about  time  for  another  scene,”  said  Bessie, 
one  afternoon.  “  I  wonder  what  they  ’re  getting 
up  now  !  ” 

One  morning,  not  long  after  this,  Leslie  came 
to  the  house,  all  trembling  and  tearful,  to  see 
Mrs.  Douglas. 

Clarence  was  lost  !  He  had  taken  his  breakfast 
about  ten  o’clock  the  morning  before  ;  for  Leslie 
remembered  stepping  over  him  as  he  was  eating 
it  on  the  stairs.  They  hardly  wondered  when 
he  didn’t  come  in  to  dinner  ;  but  when  tea-time 
came,  and  no  Clarence,  the  family  were  alarmed. 

Pomp  had  gone  out  and  asked  everybody  he 
met  ;  but  nobody  had  seen  Clarence.  He  went 
to  a  policeman,  who  said  the  boy  would  probably 
be  at  home  by  the  time  he  got  back.  “  Lost  boys 
are  always  found  at  home,”  he  said.  Leslie  haa 
sat  up  all  night,  and  Pomp  had  been  to  all  the 
police  stations,  and  her  aunt  was  almost  crazy ; 
and  wouldn’t  Mrs.  Douglas  please,  please  come 
to  see  her  ? 

Mrs.  Douglas  was  very  sorry  for  them.  They 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK .  57 


were  so  shiftless  that  she  yearned  over  them  : 
so  shiftless  that  it  was  pathetic. 

She  hurried  on  her  bonnet,  and  went  with 
Leslie,  first  sending  little  Ned  with  a  note  to 
Tom’s  office. 

In  a  short  time,  Tom  appeared  at  Mrs.  St. 
John’s,  with  a  morning  paper.  He  had  just 
seen  this  item  :  — 

“Yesterday,  toward  night,  a  man  discovered 
the  body  of  a  child  in  the  water,  by  a  lumber 
pile  near  Libby’s  Wharf.  It  was  that  of  a 
boy  about  nine  years  old.  He  was  apparently 
dead.  His  clothing  was  not  marked.  He  wore 
a  mixed  gray  suit,  odd  shoes  and  stockings.  One 
was  a  man’s  stocking  marked  with  a  stencil,  the 
name  nearly  illegible.  It  looked  like  Cavetto. 
The  boy  wore  a  long  blue  cape,  lined  with  red, 
fastened  with  gilt  clasps.  It  had  probably 
buoyed  him  up  when  he  fell  through  the  ice. 
He  was  taken  to  the  City  Hospital.” 

Mrs.  St.  John  went  '  into  hysterics.  Mrs. 
Douglas  and  Pomp  had  their  hands  full  with 
her. 

Tom  and  Leslie  set  out  for  the  hospital. 
Leslie  wanted  to  run,  but  Tom  called  a  carriage. 

She  sat  in  the  superintendent’s  office  while 
Tom  made  inquiries.  He  came  back  in  a  min* 
ute,  smiling. 

“  The  little  scamp  is  alive  !  ”  he  said. 


58  THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK. 


Leslie  caught  his  hand  and  kissed  it  over  and 
over,  much  to  the  embarrassment  of  the  little  old 
gentleman,  with  a  plaid  neck-tie,  who  sat  at  the 
desk,  his  stiff  white  hair  parted  behind,  and  peep¬ 
ing  over  each  ear  as  if  to  spy  what  he  was  writing. 

Tom  took  Leslie  to  Clarence,  and  then  rushed 
back  to  carry  the  good  news. 

Clarence  was  cross.  He  wouldn’t  let  Leslie 
kiss  him. 

“  What  did  you  put  me  here  for  ?  ”  he  asked 
faintly.  “  I  don’t  like  this  big  bedroom.  I ’d 
rather  be  home  when  I ’m  sick.” 

“  My  darling !  ”  said  Leslie,  with  tears  in  her 
eyes,  “I  have  come  to  take  you  home.  I  didn’t 
put  you  here.  O  Clarence,  why  did  you  run 
away?  Aunty  is  sick  :  she  thinks  you  are  dead. 
Mr.  Douglas  has  gone  home  to  tell  her  that  you 
are  alive,  and  to  make  her  well.  Didn’t  you 
know  you ’d  been  almost  drowned  ?  ” 

“  No,”  said  Clarence.  “  Was  I  ?  I  knew  I  went 
skating.  I ’ve  been  asleep  for  a  good  while,  and 
when  I  woke  up  I  was  afraid,  here.  I  thought 
maybe  I  was  dead,  and  this  was  the  way  they 
did  in  heaven.” 

The  doctor  said  Clarence  must  not  be  moved 
for  a  day  or  two,  and  that  Leslie  might  stay  with 
him  all  the  afternoon. 

Leslie  held  his  hand,  and  whispered  stories 
to  him,  and  hummed  her  songs  so  sweetly 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPE  LA  CLOAK .  59 


and  softly  that  Clarence  soon  fell  into  a  deep 
sleep. 

Tom  made  Bessie  laugh  at  dinner.  “  Mrs. 
St.  John  was  like  the  affectionate  mother  of  the 
‘  Lost  Heir,’  ”  he  said.  “  She  got  on  her  dignity 
at  once,  when  she  found  Clarence  was  not  dead, 
and  said  she  shouldn’t  speak  to  him  for  a  week 
for  giving  her  such  a  fright,  and  she  should 
write  to  his  father  to  have  him  put  in  the  Reform 
School  ;  and  he  should  be  whipped  well  for  this  ; 
and  that  Leslie,  who  had  nothing  to  do  but  to 
look  after  the  boys,  should  find,  to  her  cost,  that 
this  carelessness  was  not  to  be  overlooked.” 

‘‘Wasn’t  it  funny,”  added  Tom,  “that  ‘  O.  C. 
St.  John,  Esq.,’  as  Bessie  calls  the  opera  cloak, 

“  led  to  his  discovery  ?  I  forgot,  for  a  minute, 
that  the  boy  was  supposed  to  be  dead,  and  roared, 
when  I  saw  that  in  the  paper !  And  there  the 
cloak  was,  hanging  over  the  hospital  cot  like  a 
guardian  angel  with  folded  wings.” 

“And  was  it  Mr.  Cavello’s  stocking  he  had 
on  ?  ”  asked  Bessie. 

“Of  course,”  said  Tom.  “My  only  wonder 
is  that  that  family  don’t  invent  some  way  to 
exchange  heads.” 

As  if  it  was  not  enough  for  Leslie  and  Tom  • 
to  be  in  love,  or  on  the  way  to  it ;  and  for  poor 


6o  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


Mr.  Cavello  to  be  tearing  his  hair,  as  it  were  ; 
and  for  Gertrude  Henderson  to  be  tearing  Les¬ 
lie’s,  so  to  speak,  —  poor  little  Arthur  must  needs 
take  his  turn,  and  fall  in  love  with  Bessie,  who 
was  five  years  older  than  he.  He  brought  her 
presents,  he  made  pretty  little  speeches.  Poor 
Arthur !  He  was  a  handsome,  attractive  boy  ; 
but  he  could  not  “  tell  time,”  and  he  spoke  of 
“  Hug  Miller,”  in  the  Game  of  Authors,  to  little 
Ned’s  horror. 

One  day  he  sent  Bessie  a  parrot  in  a  beauti¬ 
ful  gilt  cage,  and  a  lovely  turquoise  ring. 

“  This  is  getting  serious,”  said  Bessie,  laugh¬ 
ing.  “  The  boy  has  taken  to  coming  to  church, 
and  he  glares  at  any  one  who  speaks  to  me.  I 
thought  he ’d  call  Deacon  Watson  out  for  a  duel, 
when  he  shook  hands  with  me  in  the  aisle.” 

Jasper  appeared  one  day  with  a  note  from 
Arthur,  spelled  horribly,  requesting  Bessie  to  go 
to  a  “  concirt  ”  with  him.  Jasper  was  to  wait 
for  an  answer.  He  stood  eating  a  russet  apple, 
and  holding  a  red  one  in  his  hand. 

“  What  a  beautiful  apple  you  have  there  !  ”  said 
Mrs.  Douglas,  amusing  herself  with  the  boy. 
“  Do  you  like  red  or  brown  apples  best  ?  ” 

“Well,”  said  Jasper,  looking  very  solemn,  as  if 
he  had  a  most  important  question  to  decide,  “  I 
loves  de  brown  best.  De  red  apple  is  de  putti- 
est ;  but  yer  put  yer  teef  into  it,  it  squizzles  up 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK.  6 1 


yer  mouf ;  but  yer  puts  yer  teef  into  de  brown 
apple,  an’  yer  keeps  on  puttin’  yer  teef  in.  Dese 
redapples  is  like  some  folks,  —  dey  charms  de 
eye,  but  dere  isn’t  nothin’  in  ’em  !  Dese  brown 
apples,  dey ’s  like  oder  folks,  —  dey  ain’t  so 
smarted  up,  but  dey ’s  good  inside.” 

Mrs.  Douglas  laughed  outright.  She  remem¬ 
bered  Jasper’s  moralizing  at  the  front  door  on 
her  first  call  at  the  St.  Johns’. 

“  And  do  you  like  living  in  the  North  or  South 
best  ?  ”  she  asked. 

“  Well,”  said  the  boy  solemnly,  “  as  fur  as  water- 
millions  goes,  I  likes  de  Souf  best ;  but  as  fur  as 
de  mince  pie  goes,  dat  you  give  me  one  day,  I 
likes  de  Norf  best.” 

Mrs.  Douglass  sent  for  some  mince  pie  imme¬ 
diately.  Such  a  delicate  hint  and  so  fine  a  com¬ 
pliment  must  be  rewarded. 

“  Do  you  ever  go  to  school,  Jasper  ?  ”  inquired 
Mrs.  Douglas,  while  he  was  busy  with  the  en¬ 
gaging  pie,  which  had  so  endeared  the  North  to 
him. 

“  Oh,  yes,  Missus,”  he  replied.  “  I  goes  putty 
reg’lar.  I  draws  picters  in  a  book  some  days.” 

“  What  sort  of  pictures  ?  ” 

“  Well,  de  teacher  gives  ’em  to  us.  We  ’s  done 
de  pumps  an’  coffins,  an’  now  we ’s  on  de  wine¬ 
glass.  I  larns,  too,  about  de  speres,  de  moon 
an’  de  stars.  De  sun  is  a  yeller  ball,  yer  know, 


62  THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK. 


an’  it’s  ketched  on  to  de  globe  wid  a  good  strong 
wire,  an’  de  moon  ain’t  so  big,  an’  is  white,  an’ 
is  ketched  on  wid  anoder  wire.” 

“  Do  you  understand  about  the  real  sun  and 
earth  and  moon  better,  since  you  learned 
that  ?  ” 

“  What,  Missus  ?  ” 

“  Do  you  understand  that  the  globe  is  made 
like  this  world  you  live  on,  only  a  great,  great 
deal  smaller  ?  ” 

“  Oh,  no,  Missus,”  said  Jasper;  and  then  he 
added,  rather  surprised  at  Mrs.  Douglas’s  stu¬ 
pidity  :  “  We  don’t  live  on  de  globe,  yer  know. 
We  couldn’t,  —  ’tain’t  no  bigger  dan  dat,”  circling 
his  arms.  “  Massy  gracious  !  my  gran’fa’s  two 
feet  would  cover  de  world  all  up,  ef  it  wa’n’t  no 
bigger  dan  a  globe.” 

Then,  feeling  that  he  had  exhausted  Mrs. 
Douglas’s  capacity  in  globes,  he  went  on  to 
arithmetic  : — 

“  I  larns,  ef  a  boy  hes  five  chestnuts  in  one 
han’,  an’  two  chestnuts  in  de  oder  han’,  how 
many  chestnuts  does  dat  boy  hev  ?  Onswer, 
seven  chestnuts. 

“  Ef  Mary  hes  seven  apples,  an’  Susan  hes 
free  apples,  how  many  hes  dey  bof  ’  togedder  ? 
Onswer,  ten  apples. 

“  Ef  John  hes  twelve  alleys,  —  no,  morbles, — 
an’” —  He  was  evidently  going  straight  down 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  63 


the  page,  when  Bessie  appeared  with  a  note, 
and  he  rushed  off. 

The  next  time  Mrs.  Douglas  met  Mrs.  St. 
John,  she  said  to  her  that  she  was  afraid  she 
did  not  know  how  Arthur  was  wasting  his 
money.  He  bought  such  expensive  presents  for 
Bessie  that  it  made  them  feel  very  uncomfort¬ 
able,  and  they  must  return  them  to  him. 

“Oh,  don’t !  ”  said  Mrs.  St.  John  :  “  the  poor 
boy  would  feel  so  bad  ;  and  I ’m  sure  it ’s  a  very 
innocent  way  to  spend  money.  I  ’m  only  glad 
he  had  sense  to  buy  things  like  that.” 

As  the  Colonel’s  land  had  hung  on  his  hands 
of  late,  he  had  had  very  little  money  to  send 
home,  and  yet  the  boys  had  been  more  lavish 
than  usual.  Unfortunately,  they  had  bought  ice¬ 
cream,  guns  and  parlor-skates  instead  of  clothes  ; 
and  Clarence  was  now  obliged  to  stay  in  for 
want  of  shoes. 

One  day  there  was  not  a  mouthful  to  eat  in 
the  house.  The  week  before  they  had  lived  on 
“  turkey  and  tart,  and  on  chine,  chine,  chine.” 
Pomp  had  now  no  meal  to  make  a  hoe-cake,  — 
so  “  they  had  to  let  the  hoe-cake  be.” 

The  morning  mail  brought  no  check  from  the 
Colonel.  Mrs.  St.  John  was  getting  cross. 

“Come,  Pomp,”  said  she,  “  what  are  you  going 
to  do  now  ?  We’ve  got  to  eat,  I  suppose,  if  the 


64  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


Colonel  does  think  we  can  wait  day  after  day  for 
our  meals.  I  reckon  he  ’s  at  a  club,  eating  sweet¬ 
bread  and  quails.” 

“  Oh,  don’t  yer  git  all  frusterd,”  said  Pomp. 
“  I  ’ll  git  yer  a  nice  brekfust  putty  soon.  Things 
ain’t  goin’  hard,  Miss  Marie,  yer  ’se  only  hungry.” 
Pomp  had  a  trick  of  his  own  by  which  to  raise 
money . 

Toward  dusk  the  next  night,  Tom  was  hurry¬ 
ing  home  from  his  office,  when  a  queer  figure 
creeping  along  in  the  shadow  caught  his  eye. 
There  was  a  natural  and  an  unnatural  look  about 
it.  He  went  closer  ;  and  the  man,  feeling  an  eye 
upon  him,  shrunk  into  the  area  of  a  house.  Tom 
passed  on,  and,  turning  the  next  corner,  waited 
a  few  minutes.  Soon  the  man  came  in  sight, 
and  in  the  light  of  the  street-lamp  Tom  saw  a 
cringing  Jew  enveloped  in  the  Colonel’s  opera 
cloak. 

Tom  dashed  at  it  as  if  he  was  rescuing  “a  man 
and  a  brother,”  and  demanded  of  the  Jew  where 
he  had  got  the  cloak.  The  little  man,  fright¬ 
ened  almost  to  death,  said  it  was  his.  Tom 
demanded  again  how  he  came  by  it,  when  Mr. 
Isaaks  confessed  that  he  had  had  it  so  often 
in  his  pawn-shop,  with  other  things  from  the 
same  place,  that  he  had  come  to  look  on  it 
as  one  of  the  family.  He  had  just  stepped 
out  for  a  moment  to  commune  with  nature 


THE  COLONEL’S  OPERA  CLOAK.  65 


before  supper,  little  dreaming  what  his  sad  fate 
was  to  be. 

Tom  let  him  go,  and  followed  him  home  and 
paid  the  amount  due,  and  sent  the  Colonel’s  opera 
cloak  to  its  owners  by  a  boy,  with  directions  to 
leave  it  on  the  steps  and  ring  the  bell. 

Tom  would  have  laughed  to  see  its  reception 
by  the  St.  Johns.  Pomp  opened  the  door.  The 
cloak  lay  on  the  steps,  like  a  lost  lamb  come  back 
to  the  fold,  or  a  prodigal  son,  or  a  shipwrecked 
mariner. 

“  Oh,  massy  gracious  !  ”  said  Pomp,  bearing  it 
into  the  family  circle  in  the  front  parlor,  where 
all  the  gas-lights  were  blazing,  and  the  shades 
were  still  raised. 

“  Massy  gracious,  Miss  Leslie,  what  yer  tink? 
Dat  ar  op’ra  cloak’s  done  come  ob  hisself ; 
paid  his  own  pawn-ticket,  an’  done  rung  de 
bell !  I  see  his  brass  knobs  a-wigglin’  when 
I  opened  de  do’.  De  days  ob  de  mir’cles  am 
returned.” 

Little  Clarence  ran  to  the  old  friend,  with  open 
arms. 

“  O  you  dear  opera  cloak !  I  wanted  you 
awful  bad  to-day,”  he  cried,  with  delight. 

“  De  op’ra  cloak  done  come  back,  Missus,” 
shouted  little  Jasper,  running  into  the  back 
parlor,  with  white  eyes  shining.  “  My  gran’fa’ 
done  see  him  walk  up  de  steps,  an’  ring  de  do’. 


66  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


an’  walk  in  de  parlor,  good  as  anybody  !  ’Pears 
like  he  was  a  gent’man  come  to  call.” 

Even  Leslie  was  glad  :  she  always  felt  dis¬ 
graced  when  their  things  were  in  pawn.  But 
she  wished  they  could  put  Mr.  Cavello  in  pawn, 
and  lose  the  ticket. 


THE  COLONEL’S  OPEL  A  CLOAK.  6; 


CHAPTER  V. 


OOMETIMES  when  Leslie  visited  Bessie, 
^  Tom  walked  home  with  her  through  Para¬ 
dise  and  the  Elysian  Fields,  called  by  other 
people  Margrave  Street  and  Montgomery  Av¬ 
enue. 

One  night  they  went  five  blocks  too  far,  by 
mistake.  They  laughed,  and  turned,  only  to 
walk  as  much  too  far  the  other  way ;  and  then 
they  woke  out  of  the  dream-land  in  which  they 
had  been  so  aimlessly  wandering,  and  looked 
for  numbers,  and  discussed  the  merits  of  high- 
stooped  and  basement  houses,  and  over-ground 
and  under-ground  railways. 

It  mattered  little  to  them.  Few  steps  or  many, 
under-ground  and  over-ground  cars,  carried  them 
at  lightning  speed  into  a  fairy-land,  where  the 
meanest  things  were  set  about  with  halos,  and 
“  Love,  like  snow,  made  all  unseemly  things 
seem  fair.” 

Tom  wanted  to  take  Leslie  to  a  concert.  Her 
face  had  lighted  up  so  brightly  at  Gertrude  Hen- 


68  THE  COLONEL’S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


derson’s  fine  music,  and  softened  so  sweetly  at 
Grace  Wentworth’s,  that  he  wanted  to  see  her 
enjoy  Thomas’s  orchestra  and  the  Glee-Club 
singing. 

He  stood  in  his  room,  lost  in  thought,  smoking 
away  at  an  unlighted  cigar. 

There  never  was  a  girl  so  sweet  as  Leslie,  — 
never,  by  George!”  said  the  handsome  young 
fellow,  bringing  his  hand  down  upon  the  mantel¬ 
piece.  “  I  ’ll  take  her  there.  But,  then,  I  sup¬ 
pose  she ’d  wear  one  slipper  and  a  cavalry-boot, 
a  silk  waist  and  a  petticoat ;  a  stove-pipe  hat  and 
a  white  veil,  one  mit  and  a  fur  glove  ;  and,  over 
all,  the  Colonel’s  opera  cloak  !  Dear  little  Leslie, 
she ’d  look  like  a  pink,  even  then,  I  believe.” 

It  gave  Tom  a  twinge,  however,  to  think 
of  placing  Leslie  near  Gertrude  Henderson, 
or  any  of  his  fashionable  friends  ;  not  because 
he  was  ashamed  of  her,  I  truly  believe,  but 
because  he  remembered  Leslie’s  quick  blushes 
when  things  were  amiss  in  her  dress  or  about 
the  house. 

“  I  know  !  ”  said  Tom.  “  I  ’ll  take  her  to 
drive,  and  it  won’t  be  round  the  park  either,  but 
out  into  the  country  and  through  by-way  and 
highway.  Things  must  be  getting  summerish 
by  this  time  in  the  country.” 

Tom  had  discovered  a  new  way  of  going  home 
from  his  office.  He  went  twelve  blocks  too  far 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  69 


up  town,  and  across  two  avenues,  in  order  to 
pass  Leslie’s  house.  He  laughed  at  himself,  and 
called  it  his  “  short  cut.” 

Leslie  learned  to  watch  for  him. 

He  rarely  came  to  call,  but  she  counted  the 
day  lost  when  she  did  not  bow  to  him  from  the 
parlor  window  ;  and  Tom  felt  despondent  about 
his  business,  if  he  missed  her  face  from  between 
the  dingy  lace  curtains;  and  then  his  kind 
mother  would  say  to  her  boy,  when  she  saw 
the  shadow  on  his  face, — 

“No  one  ever  got  a  great  practice  at  once. 
You  are  doing  as  well  as  any  young  lawyer.” 

Poor  woman  !  One  look  from  Leslie’s  shy 
eyes  would  have  proved  better  comfort. 

One  day,  while  Tom  was  taking  his  “  short 
cut,”  it  occurred  to  him  to  make  a  call  on  Leslie, 
and  set  a  day  for  a  drive. 

Pomp  ushered  him  into  the  parlor,  and  went 
to  call  Leslie.  She  was  behind  the  curtains, 
watching  for  Tom.  She  ventured  forth  when 
Pomp  had  shut  the  door. 

Poor  old  Pomp  !  He  didn’t  come  back.  He 
had  seen  her  hiding  in  the  curtains  ;  he  only 
laughed  to  himself.  “I  reckons  Miss  Leslie’s 
done  fotch  Massa  Tom  !  Pie  do’  ’no’  ef  his 
head  or  his  heels  am  de  place  fur  to  walk  on,” 
he  said. 

Leslie  was  delighted  at  the  idea  of  the  drive 


70  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK . 


Oh,  she  had  wanted  so  to  see  the  country  !  She 
was  always  homesick  in  the  city  ;  and  even  in 
the  North  there  must  be  some  blossoms  now,  or, 
at  least,  a  little  green  grass. 

Her  life  was  a  dull  one  ;  and  she  looked  on 
Tom  as  a  kind  angel,  who  had  promised  her  a 
day’s  trip  to  heaven. 

When  the  day  came,  it  was  rather  “  misty- 
moisty.”  Tom  sought  the  family  opinion  about 
the  weather  so  earnestly,  at  breakfast,  that  they 
asked  if  he  was  going  to  a  balloon  ascension. 

“  Whiles  I  thinks  it  will  rain,  and  whiles  I 
thinks  it  won’t,”  said  Bessie,  in  broad  Irish, 
mimicking  old  Dennis. 

Tom  kept  his  own  counsel.  He  felt  instinc¬ 
tively  that  Gertrude  Henderson  would  be  more 
kindly  looked  on  than  shy  little  Leslie,  by  the 
family,  even  for  a  drive. 

The  sun  came  out  in  the  afternoon.  Tom 
appeared  at  Mrs.  St.  John’s  with  a  smart  buggy 
and  a  fine  horse. 

Leslie  had  borrowed  her  aunt’s  bonnet.  Mrs. 
St.  John  was  quite  cheerful  at  this  advance  on 
Tom’s  part.  She  almost  offered  her  red  India 
shawl. 

“  Now,  Miss  Leslie,”  said  Pomp,  who  had 
gone  out  to  hold  the  horse,  “  yer  ain’t  got  ’nuf 
on,  ef  it  comes  on  rainin’.  Yer  wait  tell  I  fotch 
de  Colonel’s  op’ra  cloak.” 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK.  7 1 


Tom  almost  demurred.  “  O.  C.  St.  John, 
Esq.,”  had  acquired  such  a  personality  at  the 
Doctor’s,  that  he  was  inclined  to  look  on  it  as  a 
spy.  He  felt  as  if  one  of  the  family  had  been 
forced  on  him.  He  expected  Pomp  to  bring  out 
the  three  young  cousins,  Mrs.  St.  John,  and  Mr. 
Cavello,  next. 

Mrs.  St.  John  waved  her  handkerchief  from 
the  parlor,  while  Pomp  was  seeking  for  the  cloak 
in  all  its  accustomed  haunts.  The  boys  balanced 
themselves  out  of  a  window. 

“  Hallo,  Leslie  !  Going  to  ride  with  a  young 
man  !  ho,  ho,  ho,  ho  !  Good-by,  Mrs.  Douglas, 
—  good-by.”  And  little  Jasper’s  “  te,  he,”  was 
heard  above  their  voices. 

Pomp  laid  the  cloak  over  Leslie’s  feet,  and  the 
two  young  people  drove  off  with  flushed  cheeks. 
Leslie  was  almost  crying  with  shame. 

After  they  passed  the  city  limits,  they  came 
into  the  well-kept  roads  of  the  suburbs. 

“  How  should  you  like  to  live  in  one  of  those 
houses  ?  ”  asked  Tom,  pointing  to  a  Gothic  villa, 
with  flower-beds  laid  out  like  a  puzzle. 

“Oh!”  said  Leslie,  “  I  can’t  bear  that  kind. 
How  dreadful  it  would  be  to  walk  round  that  gar¬ 
den  in  and  out,  back  and  forth,  up  and  down.  It 
ought  to  have  a  whipping-post,  a  pillory,  and 
the  Mansion  of  Happiness  in  the  middle.” 

“  I  don’t  like  it,  either,”  said  Tom,  though  he 


72  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


had  thought  it  lovely  a  moment  before,  and  had 
put  Leslie  in  the  door-way,  and  was  walking  up 
the  path  himself,  all  in  the  flash  of  an  eye  ;  but 
now  this  dream  faded  as  quickly  as  it  had 
arisen. 

“  Show  me  the  kind  of  house  you  like/’  said 
he. 

After  they  had  passed  through  the  long  cov¬ 
ered  bridge,  under  which  the  river  was  roaring 
and  tumbling  over  its  rocky  bed,  the)/-  reached 
the  country  ;  and  there  Leslie  found  houses  to 
her  mind,  —  old  farm-houses,  with  sloping  roofs  ; 
large  family  mansions,  with  walled  gardens,  and 
elms  on  the  lawns. 

The  little  saxifrage  was  thick  along  the 
road, —  “  pussy-foot  ”  Leslie  called  it.  She  got 
out  to  gather  some,  and  Tom  had  to  lift  her 
down.  They  took  no  time  to  notice  the  black 
clouds  which  were  scudding  rapidly  over  the 
heavens. 

Tom  had  hardly  helped  Leslie  into  the  car¬ 
riage,  when  large  drops  began  to  fall. 

“  We  are  very  near  a  hotel  now,”  said  he,  — 
“  one  you  will  like.  It  is  called  the  Half-Way 
House,  and  kept  in  real  country  fashion.” 

The  rain  was  pouring  in  torrents  when  they 
drove  into  the  stable.  A  woman  came  out, 
and  led  Leslie  through  a  covered  passage  into 
the  house. 


THE  COLONEL  S  OPERA  CLOAK.  73 


“  It  is  only  an  April  shower,”  said  she.  “  I  ’ll 
warm  you,  and  by  that  time  it  will  be  over.” 

There  were  long  tables  in  the  dining-hall, 
well  filled  on  court  and  cattle-show  days, 
when  the  Governor  and  other  great  men  made 
speeches. 

In  the  little  sitting-room  was  an  open  fire,  and 
here  Tom  ordered  tea.  A  stern  hair-cloth  sofa 
filled  one  side  of  the  room.  “  Excuse  me,”  one 
would  almost  say  before  sitting  on  it. 

“I  wish  the  fellow  who  cursed  mankind  with 
hair-cloth  was  forced  to  eat  it  all,”  said  Tom, 
eying  the  sofa. 

Leslie  laughed. 

“  I  wish  our  boys  had  one  to  jump  on,”  she 
said :  “  it  would  be  better  than  red  satin  for 
them.” 

Over  the  high  mantel-piece,  “  Wide  Awake  ’* 
and  “  Fast  Asleep  ”  woke  and  slumbered. 

“  I  suppose  it’s  safe  to  say,”  said  Tom,  “  that 
there  isn’t  a  spot  in  this  wide  world  unblessed 
by  at  least  one  of  those  pictures.  As  the  poet 
says,  — 

‘  The  sea,  the  lone  dark  sea  hath  one/ 

and  again, 

‘  Two  are  in  the  church-yard  laid, 

And  two  in  Conway  dwell.’  ” 


Tom  looked  around. 


74  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


“Where’s  ‘God  bless  our  Home  ’  ?  Bessie’s 
afraid  to  marry,  for  fear  that  motto  will  be 
given  her.  Here  it  is  ;  and  ‘  Love  one  Another,’  — 
that ’s  good  ;  and  ‘  Welcome,’  —  that ’s  pleasant.” 

Leslie  wished  he  wouldn’t  make  fun  of  every 
thing.  She  didn’t  dare  to  admire  any  thing 
except  skies,  flowers,  and  music.  She  had  the 
best  of  Tom  there. 

They  sat  by  the  fire  in  the  easy-chairs  with 
the  bright  patch  cushions,  —  the  chairs  which 
almost  rocked  themselves, — while  tea  was  being 
served  on  the  large  light-stand. 

It  seemed  doubly  pleasant,  from  the  rain  and 
.  wind  outside.  That  would  only  last  through  this 
delightful  tea  :  the  woman  had  said  it  was  only 
a  shower. 

So  Leslie  smiled  and  beamed  and  laughed  at 
every  thing  Tom  said  ;  and  she  toasted  the  bread 
a  little  more,  and  told  Tom  if  he  didn’t  eat  his 
crusts  she  should  put  them  on  a  high  shelf  for 
his  breakfast  ;  and  Tom  thought  what  a  jolly 
thing  it  would  be  to  have  Leslie  always  at  a 
little  table,  laughing  at  him  and  warming  his 
toast. 

Leslie  said  the  tea  was  that  horrid  English 
breakfast  tea  which  tasted  like  hay  ;  but  Tom 
said  it  was  nectar,  —  he  always  knew  he  should 
be  able  to  tell  the  thing  when  he  met  it  ;  and 
he  found  ambrosia  in  the  smoked  beef  omelet. 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  75 


Leslie  said  he  might  put  his  elbow  on  the 
table,  and  spread  jelly  on  his  bread,  and  sing, 
and  sit  in  his  rocking-chair  while  he  supped,  be¬ 
cause  this  nice  little  time  was  “just  for  once.” 

Tom’s  spirits  drooped  for  a  minute,  and  then 
he  fortified  himself  with  a  “We’ll  see.” 

The  opera  cloak  hung  on  a  chair  by  the  fire. 
Tom  felt  rebuked  that  he  had  not  asked  it  to 
“  draw  up  ”  and  “  take  a  bite.” 

When  tea  was  over,  Leslie  sat  in  her  chair  by 
the  fire,  and  sang  the  little  songs  which  seemed 
to  belong  to  her.  The  light  shone  through  her 
flossy  hair,  and  made  a  halo  about  her  pretty 
head.  She  said  she  wished  she  could  “  purr.” 

The  old  clock  in  the  hall  struck  six.  The  rain 
was  driving  as  heavily  as  ever.  The  woman 
came  in  to  bring  more  wood,  and  Leslie  rather 
reproached  her  for  the  storm,  —  “You  said  it 
would  be  over  after  tea.” 

The  woman  laughed.  “  Folks  always  look  for 
showers  in  April,”  she  said  ;  “  but  this  has  set  in 
for  the  night,  the  men-folks  seem  to  think.” 

“Then  we  ought  to  go  now,”  said  Leslie,  ris¬ 
ing  and  taking  a  longing  look  at  the  fire.  “  I 
hope  I  sha’n’t  spoil  my  bonnet,”  she  added. 

The  buggy  was  soon  at  the  door.  Tom  had 
pulled  up  the  boot,  and  had  borrowed  a  thick  robe. 

Leslie  lamented  over  her  bonnet  so  much,  that 
the  kind-hearted  woman  lent  her  a  cloud,  which 


76  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


Tom  was  to  return  with  the  robe,  and  put  the 
bonnet  into  a  box,  and  stowed  it  safely  under  the 
seat. 

The  last  dim  light  of  day  had  faded  in  the 
west  ;  and  before  they  had  gone  far  the  black 
night  was  upon  them.  The  wind  blew  furiously. 
They  could  not  see  one  step  before  them. 

The  roads  were  running  rivers,  and  the  rain 
had  dug  deep  gulleys  by  the  road-side,  into  which 
the  wheels  would  slip  now  and  then,  and  nearly 
upset  the  carriage. 

“  Do  you  know  the  road  ?  ”  asked  Leslie,  in  a 
whisper. 

“  Oh,  yes.  I ’ve  been  here  dozens  of  times.” 
But  Tom  was  rather  inclined  to  think  that  knowl¬ 
edge  was  of  little  avail  in  this  darkness. 

After  they  had  gone  slowly  along  for  an  hour, 
the  horse  was  thrown  suddenly  upon  his  haunches, 
and  the  carriage  gave  a  terrible  lurch.  A  crash 
was  heard,  and  a  deep  voice :  “  Vot  you  vant 
here,  runnin’  indo  beobles  dis  vay  ?  Git  out !  ” 

The  horse  groaned  and  fell.  Tom  held  the 
reins  with  his  right  hand,  and  Leslie  with  his 
left. 

“  Don’t  be  frightened,”  he  said  ;  “  I  ’ll  lift  you 
out ;  ”  which  he  did,  and  set  her  ankle-deep  in  a 
puddle. 

He  and  the  German  who  had  collided  with 
him  held  a  consultation. 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  77 


“  Ve  can’t  do  som’thin’  vidout  light,”  said  the 
man,  “  and  I  ton’t  see  no  housen. 

“  I ’m  leaning  against  a  fence,”  said  Leslie, 
to  announce  her  discovery.  “  Perhaps  theie  s  a 
house  behind  it.  I  will  see. 

Tom  was  sitting  on  the  horse’s  head  to  keep 
him  down ;  the  German  was  righting  the 

buggy. 

Leslie  felt  along  the  fence,  and  soon  touched 
a  gate-latch.  She  found  a  gravel  path,  and,  step¬ 
ping  carefully  along,  she  at  last  stumbled  upon 
a  house,  and  called  out  triumphantly  that  she 
had  found  one. 

She  pounded  on  the  door,  —  perfect  silence. 
Again  she  pounded  ;  and  at  last  kicked  with  her 
stout  boots, —  Clarence’s  boots,  rather. 

Then  she  heard  steps  :  the  door  rattled,  and 
she  was  dazzled  by  a  light  in  her  face,  which  an 
old  woman  in  a  night-gown  and  ruffled  cap  held 
over  her  head. 

The  old  woman  looked  blankly  into  the  dark¬ 
ness. 

“We  have  lost  our  way,”  said  Leslie’s  voice, 
out  of  the  night,  “  and  our  horse  is  dying,  and 
a  man  has  run  into  us,  and  we  want  some 

help.” 

After  the  woman  had  recovered  from  her  sur¬ 
prise,  she  lowered  the  light,  and  looked  Leslie 

over. 


« 


78  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


• 

“  Come  in,”  she  said,  at  last.  “  I  ’ll  wake  up 
my  old  man,  and  git  him  out.  We  just  come 
back  from  visitin’  my  darter-in-law,  and  we  felt 
sort  o’  wore  out,  and  went  off  to  bed  early.” 

Leslie  ran  back  to  tell  Tom  that  help  was 
coming. 

When  she  returned  to  the  house,  the  old 
woman  had  roused  her  husband,  who,  being 
deaf,  did  not  start  fair  on  the  subject. 

“  Whose  horse  did  you  say  ?  ” 

“  I  dunno,  —  a  strange  horse.” 

“  Oh,  a  strayed  horse,  —  strayed  into  the 
garden-patch  ?  ” 

“  And  there ’s  a  man  and  a  woman  !  ” 

“  Oh  !  a  man.  I  thought  you  said  a  horse.” 

“  And  a  woman.” 

“  Oh  !  I  thought  you  said  a  man.  *  Was  she 
afoot  ?  ” 

The  old  woman  brought  another  light,  and, 
seeing  Leslie  shiver,  she  kindled  a  little  fire  in  the 
kitchen  stove,  and  made  her  put  her  feet  on  the 
hearth.  She  asked  her  a  thousand  questions  : 
what  the  man’s  name  was,  and  where  he  was 
“  settin’  out  for  ;  ”  as  if  he  was  an  emigrant  train. 

Leslie  told  her  their  names,  and  where  they 
lived,  and  answered  all  her  questions. 

The  old  woman  was  delighted  with  her  visitor, 
offered  her  some  mince -pie,  and  was  hurt  when 
Leslie  declined  eating  it. 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  79 


“  ’Tain’t  made  with  dried  apples,”  she  said,  as 
if  Leslie  had  insinuated  that  it  was. 

The  man  came  back  for  another  lantern. 

“Is  the  horse  dead?”  Leslie  screamed  anx¬ 
iously  to  him. 

“  No,  marm,  he  was  only  skeert  a  little. 
Nothin’  ain’t  the  matter  with  nothin’.” 

“  Ain’t  you  afeard,”  asked  the  old  woman,  “  to 
go  through  the  long  bridge  agin  ?  It ’s  putty 
rickety  in  the  daytime ;  and  it  ain’t  no  better  by 
night,  I  can  tell  you.  Folks  says  —  though  I 
don’t  know  as  it’s  trew  —  there’s  burglars  about 
there,  and  murderin’  a-goin’  on  nights.  You 
remember  them  little  narrer  winders  ’long 
the  sides,  don’t  you  ?  ” 

“Yes;”  Leslie  remembered  them. 

“  Well,  they  say  how  they  robs  ’em  o’  their 
bosom-pins  and  chains,  and  then  throws  ’em  out 
o’  them  winders.” 

Leslie’s  eyes  opened  with  fright. 

“  I  haven’t  any  jewelry,”  she  said.  “  I  won¬ 
der  if  they’ll  believe  me.” 

« Oh,  I  guess  so,”  said  the  old  woman,  en¬ 
couragingly.  “  I  never  heard  that  they  didn't 
believe  folks.” 

Tom  came  in. 

“We’re  all  ready,  Miss  Leslie.  Nothing 
was  broken,  and  we  shall  go  on  very  well, 


now. 


80  THE  COLONEL  ’S  OPEL  A  CLOAK . 


Tom  borrowed  the  old  man’s  lantern,  and 
Leslie  held  it  at  arm’s  length  above  her  head, 
while  Tom  drove. 

The  horse  walked  carefully  along.  Tom 
laughed  at  Leslie’s  fears  of  the  bridge :  he  had 
been  through  it  at  all  hours  of  the  day  and  the 
night,  and  had  never  even  heard  of  a  murder 
there ;  and  so  she  was  quieted.  But  those  were 
solemn  moments,  going  through  the  covered 
bridge.  “  Thump,  thump,  thump,”  went  the 
horse’s  echoing  feet.  It  seemed  as  if  he  were 
in  a  tread-mill,  going  over  and  over  the  same 
ground. 

Leslie  held  Tom's  sleeve  all  the  time,  and 
drew  a  sigh  of  relief  when  the  “  thump,  thump,” 
was  deadened  on  solid  ground. 

It  was  ten  by  this  time,  and  they  had  yet 
some  way  to  go. 

“  I  shall  never  forgive  myself,”  said  Tom, 
“  for  the  discomfort  and  fright  I  have  given 
you,  and  I  ’ll  never  forget  what  a  brave  girl 
you  were,  to  hunt  up  that  house  in  the  dark. 
Most  girls  would  have  fainted,  or  sat  down  and 
cried.  I  took  Gertrude  Henderson  out  once, 
and  she  fainted  when  the  horse  ran  a  little, 
though  I  never  lost  control  of  him.  It  is  a  com¬ 
fort  to  see  such  a  brave  girl  as  you.” 

Leslie’s  heart  was  flying  with  happiness. 

“  Oh,  don’t  say  you  are  sorry  you  took  me. 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK .  8 1 


The  drive  out  was  beautiful,  and  the  lovely  little 
tea  I  shall  remember  for  ever.  I  never  had  such 
a  good  time  in  my  life.  I  was  just  as  happy  as 
I  wanted  to  be  for  once ;  and  to-morrow  even 
this  will  be  funny  to  laugh  about.” 

“  I  ’m  afraid  you  ’ll  take  cold,”  said  Tom,  in 
a  tone  that  was  rapidly  becoming  tender. 

“  Oh,  no,  I  shan’t.  I  never  take  cold,”  said 
Leslie.  “  I  am  so  strong,  nobody  ever  thinks 
about  me,  or  takes  care  that  I  don’t  get  cold.” 

“  I  know  somebody  who  thinks  about  you, 
and  who  likes  to  take  care  of  you.” 

“  Oh,  yes,  —  Pomp,”  said  Leslie,  innocently  ; 
and  then  it  flashed  across  her  that  he  meant 
himself ;  but  that  couldn’t  be.  And  Tom 
thought  he  had  said  too  much,  and  would  vex 
her,  and  so  was  silent.  They  rode  along  slowly, 
letting  the  horse  take  his  own  pace. 

It  was  eleven  when  they  reached  Mrs.  St. 
John’s.  Tom  nearly  carried  Leslie  up  the  wet 
steps..  Pomp  was  watching,  and  opened  the 
door  at  the  sound  of  their  feet.  Then  Tom 
brought  in  the  bonnet-box,  held  Leslie’s  hand 
one  long  second,  said  “  good-night,”  and  was 
off. 

Pomp  softly  closed  the  door,  and  motioned 
to  Leslie  to  take  off  her  boots,  and  tiptoe  after 
him  to  the  kitchen.  There  he  had  a  cup  of 
coffee  for  her,  and  made  her  put  her  feet  in  hot 

6 


82  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


water,  while  she  related  the  incidents  of  the 
drive. 

He  suddenly  struck  a  tragic  attitude :  “  Miss 
Leslie  !  Whar  ’s  de  Colonel’s  op’ra  cloak  ?  ” 

“  Gracious,  Pomp,  I  don’t  know !  We  had 
such  a  warm  robe,  and  Mr.  Tom  would  wrap  it 
so  close  around  me,  that  I  never  thought  of  the 
cloak.  I  know  we  started  with  it.  I  must  have 
dropped  it  when  the  carriage  tipped  over.  What 
will  Aunt  Marie  say  ?  ” 

“  Jus’  yer  say  nuffin,  honey  ;  only  leave  it  to 
me,”  said  Pomp,  rolling  his  white  eyes,  and 
looking  as  wise  as  an  owl.  “  I  ’ll  ’tend  to  de 
op’ra  cloak  !  ” 

What  dreams  Leslie  had  that  night  !  She 
waded  through  rivers,  and  climbed  mountains  ; 
but  Tom  was  always  by,  to  help  her ;  and  his 
voice  was  ringing  in  her  ears  when  she  awoke 
the  next  morning.  She  could  praise  him  to 
Pomp,  —  that  was  a  comfort ! 

When  Tom  reached  home,  the  family  were  in 
bed.  At  breakfast,  he  said  that  he  went  out  of 
town  in  the  afternoon.  Luckily,  a  plate  fell  and 
was  broken,  at  that  minute,  and  the  conversa¬ 
tion  turned  from  him  and  his  affairs. 

Endless  were  the  demands,  the  next  two 
days,  for  the  Colonel’s  opera  cloak.  Pomp  was 
indefatigable  in  searching  for  it.  He  went 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  83 


under  beds,  and  in  his  pretended  zeal  peered 
under  the  bureaus  and  wardrobe. 

“  Don’t  be  a  fool,  Pomp,”  said  Mrs.  St.  John, 
peevishly,  “  looking  where  you  couldn’t  squeeze 
it.  You ’d  better  look  in  your  mouth  next !  ” 

When  Pomp  was  alone  with  Mrs.  St.  John, 
he  hinted  mysteriously  that  Mr.  Cavello  “might 
tell  suthin’,  ef  he  keerd  to,  ’bout  dat  op’ra  cloak. 
When  niggers  set  up  for  gent’men,  nobody 
couldn’t  never  tell  what  dey ’d  wouldn’t  do  to 
$der  folks’s  op’ra  cloaks  !  ” 

“  What  do  you  mean,  Pomp,  opening  your 
eyes  at  me  like  great  cups  and  saucers  ?  ”  said 
Mrs.  St.  John,  who  did  not  mind  a  word  more  or 
less,  to  strengthen  a  simile. 

Pomp  only  shut  his  mouth  tightly,  and  shook 
his  head  very  hard,  and  would  not  say  any 
more. 

The  third  day  after  the  drive,  Mrs.  Douglas 
saw  the  queerest  market-wagon  in  front  of  her 
door,  and  heard  a  strange  voice  parleying  with 
the  servant  who  had  answered  the  bell. 

She  stepped  into  the  hall.  An  old  man  was 
explaining  to  “  the  lady,”  as  he  called  Bridget, 
that  his  woman  had  remembered  where  the 
young  gentleman  lived,  and  he  had  brought 
home  his  cape ;  and  he  held  out  to  her  the 
Colonel’s  opera  cloak. 

“  This  doesn’t  belong  here,”  said  Mrs.  Doug¬ 
las.  “  Where  did  you  get  it  ?  ” 


84  THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK. 


The  old  man  related  in  great  detail  how  the 
young  lady  knocked  at  his  door,  and  how  he 
thought  it  was  a  hoss  that  had  got  into  the  sass- 
garden ;  and  how  she  had  come  in,  and  he  had 
gone  out ;  and  how  the  young  gentleman  sat  oil 
the  hoss’s  head,  and  how,  after  they  had  gone, 
his  woman  wished  she  ’d  made  ’em  stay  all 
night ;  and  how  in  the  morning  he ’d  found  the 
gentleman’s  red  cape  lying  by  his  fence  ;  and 
how  a  bush  had  kept  it  from  the  rain  and  mild, 
; —  pretty  well  for  a  bush  ;  and  how  his  wife  had 
wanted  him  to  fetch  it  home  that  day,  and  how 
he  couldn’t,  because  his  hoss  had  to  be  shoed,  and 
he ’d  had  a  stiff  neck  himself  the  next  day,  and 
this  was  the  fust  time  he’d  had  a  chance,  and  how 
that  they  mustn’t  think  strange  onto  it. 

He  took  it  so  thoroughly  for  granted  that  Mrs. 
Douglas  knew  all  about  the  affair,  that  she  had 
to  ravel  his  story  to  get  the  right  of  it.  She 
thought  that  “  the  gentleman  ”  must  have  been 
Mr.  Cavello,  and  could  not  imagine  how  the 
old  man  had  hit  upon  her  house. 

“  Was  it  a  very  dark  gentleman  ?  ”  she  asked. 

“  Oh,  no,  ma’am,  —  a  light  young  man,  with  a 
reddish  moustache  and  blue  eyes,  I  should  say ; 
but  it  was  ruther  dark  to  tell  eyes.” 

“Oh!”  said  Mrs.  Douglas,  light  dawning 
upon  her,  —  “I  understand.  The  cloak  does 
not  belong  here.  I  ’ll  tell  you  where  to  take 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  85 


it.”  And  she  sent  him  to  the  house  on  Mar¬ 
grave  Street. 

Mr.  Cavello  was  standing  on  the  steps,  draw¬ 
ing  on  his  gloves.  The  old  man  took  it  for 
granted  that  this  was  his  house. 

“  I ’ve  fetched  your  cape  home,”  he  said. 

“  Oh,”  said  Mr.  Cavello.  “  Where  have  you 
found  it?” 

“  Under  a  bush,”  said  the  old  fellow.  “  It 
wa’n’t  spoilt  at  all,  now,  was  it  ?  ” 

“  No.  I  will  give  you  a  dollar,  if  you  shall  tell 
me  where  you  have  found  it.”  For  nothing  had 
been  heard  for  the  last  two  days  but  lamenta¬ 
tions  over  the  opera  cloak. 

The  old  man  went  carefully  over  the  details 
again,  not  omitting  the  stiff  neck,  and  what  “I 
said,”  and  what  “my  woman  said.” 

Mr.  Cavello’s  blood  was  up.  Here  was  the 
pretty  girl  whom  he  wanted  to  marry  slipping 
off  to  drive  with  the  Doctor’s  young  puppy. 

He  threw  the  cloak  to  Pomp,  whom  he  met 
in  the  hall,  as  he  entered  the  house. 

Pomp  carried  it  to  Mrs.  St.  John’s  room,  his 
eyes  shining,  round  and  white. 

“  Look  a-here !  ”  said  he,  with  a  most  signifi¬ 
cant  expression.  “  Massa  Cavello ’s  ‘  fouti  ’  de 
Colonel’s  op’ra  cloak!  I  fought  he’d  fin’  dat 
ar  cloak,  when  he  heerd  me  a  talkin’  so  pinted 
’bout  it,  roun’  his  do’,  and  ev’ry  time  I  see  him 


86  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


in  de  house.  I  ’se  jes’  cotched  him  wid  it  in  de 
hall.” 

Pomp  carried  the  cloak  to  the  kitchen,  and 
looked  it  over  by  the  light.  The  bush  of  which 
the  old  man  had  boasted  had  hardly  done  its 
duty.  There  were  sad  streaks  of  mud  on  the 
outside,  as  well  as  upon  the  scarlet  lining. 

“  I  reckon  I ’d  better  see  ’bout  dat,”  said 
Pomp.  “  Miss  Marie  ’ll  done  ax  whar  dat ’s  ben, 
—  looks  like ’t  had  ben  on  a  spree,  I  do  declar.’ 
I  mus’  fotch  it  down  to  dat  ar  Chiny  nigger  what 
swashes  de  Colonel’s  shirts,  an’  irons  ’em,  when 
he ’s  to  home.”  And  he  carried  it  at  once  to  Ah 
Chin’s  laundry,  to  be  cleaned. 

Bessie  couldn’t  let  the  story  rest.  As  if  the 
Colonel’s  opera  cloak  didn’t  belong  already  to 
people  enough,  without  Tom’s  borrowing  it ! 
She  ignored  Leslie  in  the  matter,  and  asked  Tom 
to  take  her  sack  out  to  drive,  some  fine  day.  She 
said  that  nothing  that  opera  cloak  might  do  could 
surprise  her  ;  she  expected  to  see  it  riding  on 
horseback,  humming  an  air  from  “  Robert  le 
Diable,”  or  walking  up  the  church  aisle. 

She  said  it  was  a  sort  of  goblin,  a  new  form  in 
which  some  spirit  was  making  its  appearance  ; 
for  her  part,  she  wras  afraid  of  it,  and  neither  for 
love  nor  for  money  would  she  stay  in  the  dark 
with  it. 

“  Come,  Bessie,”  said  Tom,  getting  a  little 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK .  87 


>  -■  •  ""  ■ 

vexed.  “  If  that  joke  can’t  die  a  natural  death, 
let  it  die  an  unnatural  one  !  Let  this  be  the  end 
of  the  opera  cloak  !  ” 

“  Death  !  ”  Bessie  shivered.  “  If  the  opera 
cloak  died,  that  wouldn’t  be  the  end  of  it  ;  though 
it  might  be  the  end  of  me.  It  would  come  back  to 
haunt  us,  —  I  know  it  would.  Just  as  the  clock 
struck  one,  I  should  see  it  stand  by  my  bedside, 
up  in  the  air,  on  its  invisible  legs,  the  gilt  clasps 
gleaming  like  eyes.  ‘Come!’  it  would  whisper, 
opening  its  flapping  sides,  ‘  I  seek  ’  ”  — 

Bessie  shut  the  door  just  in  time  to  escape  the 
sofa  pillow  which  Tom  aimed  at  her  head. 

Tom  went  out  of  town  for  a  few  days  on  busi¬ 
ness.  When  he  returned,  the  lawyer  in  the  next 
office  told  him  that  a  colored  man  had  been 
knocking  at  his  door  every  few  minutes  since  he 
left.  Tom  wondered  what  was  to  pay  at  the 
St.  Johns’  now  ;  he  was  obliged  to  go  to  court  to 
wait  for  a  case  of  his  to  be  called  up,  but  meant 
to  see  Leslie  on  his  way  home. 

As  he  entered  the  court-room,  the  clerk,  in  a 
brown  wig,  black  beard,  and  thick  spectacles,  was 
reading  from  a  large  blue  paper,  in  a  loud  voice, 
that  — 

“John  J.  Jackson,  of  -  aforesaid,  laborer, 

at -  aforesaid,  on  the  tenth  day  of  April,  in 

the  year  of  our  Lord  187-,  with  force  and  arms, 
in  and  upon  one  Ah  Chin,  then  and  there  in  the 


88  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


peace  of  said  State  being,  an  assault  did  make, 
and  him  the  said  Ah  Chin,  with  certain  gravel 
and  mire  then  and  there  in  the  hands  of  him  the 
said  Jackson  held,  did  beat,  bruise,  wound,  and 
evil  treat :  against  the  statute  in  such  case  pro¬ 
vided,  and  the  peace  and  dignity  of  the  State 
aforesaid.” 

The  prosecuting  attorney  then  arose  and  ad¬ 
dressed  the  court,  standing  with  his  back  to  the 
culprit,  saying  that  the  prisoner  had  been  here¬ 
tofore  convicted  upon  this  indictment  :  it  was 
his  duty  now  to  move  for  sentence. 

He  said  he  knew  nothing  of  the  details  of  this 
particular  case,  having  been  out  of  town  when  it 
was  tried  by  his  assistant  ;  but  that,  from  the 
facts  set  forth  in  the  indictment,  and  the  verdict 
of  guilty,  the  man  who  stood  at  the  bar  was  evi¬ 
dently  one  of  those  brutal  fellows  who  had  been 
making  attacks  of  late  upon  the  unoffending 
Chinese  residents  of  the  city.  Suc'h  men  as 
he  should  learn  by  a  bitter  lesson  that  they  are 
not  the  lords  of  this  community. 

He  said  he  would  present  to  the  court,  in  order 
that  the  particulars  of  the  offence  might  be  fully 
understood,  the  evidence  of  the  Chinaman,  and 
of  the  policeman  who  had  made  the  arrest. 

At  this  point,  an  irrepressible  smile  began 
to  break  over  the  face  of  the  judge,  and  half- 
smothered  but  increasing  laughter  was  heard 


THE  COLONEL’S  OPERA  CLOAK.  89 


in  the  court-room,  above  the  thumping  of  the 
sheriff’s  stick. 

Whereupon  the  prosecuting  attorney,  turning 
round  to  see  what  was  the  matter,  caught  sight, 
for  the  first  time,  of  “the  prisoner,”  —  a  thin, 
small  black  boy,  his  face  ashy  with  terror,  his 
wool  sticking  out  in  little  tails  all  over  his  head, 
vainly  endeavoring  to  raise  his  glaring  white 
eyes  over  the  rails  of  the  small  iron  fence  within 
which  he  was  impounded. 

It  was  John  Jasper  Jackson.  The  prosecuting 
attorney  sat  down,  and  joined  in  the  laughter, 
which  now  became  general. 

At  this  point,  a  high,  wide  policeman,  in  blue 
and  gold,  with  a  fiery  beard,  and  a  mahogany 
club  in  his  belt,  advanced,  pushing  a  small  yel¬ 
low  Chinaman  before  him,  with  a  black  em¬ 
broidered  gown,  pointed  shoes,  and  a  pigtail. 

The  Chinaman  was  duly  sworn,  in  sonorous 
phrases,  which  he  did  not  understand,  “to  testify 
the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the 
truth,  concerning  the  matter  now  in  hearing,” 
wondering  meanwhile  why  the  policeman  wanted 
to  make  him  hold  his  right  arm  up  in  the  air. 

Ah  Chin,  in  response  to  many  subtly  worded 
inquiries,  spoken  in  a  loud,  distinct  tone,  was 
finally  brought  to  say  that  the  “  miggee  boy” 
threw  mud  at  his  clean  shirts,  and  tried  to  rob 
him  oT“  big  miggee’s  ”  red  gown. 


90  THE  COLONEL  S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


Here  the  officious  policeman,  to  clinch  the 
story,  with  much  crackling  of  brown  paper, 
unfolded,  and  held  up  at  arm’s  length,  red  side 
out,  the  Colonel’s  opera  cloak. 

Pomp,  who  had  been  vainly  seeking  Tom, 
arrived  at  this  moment,  and  was  much  struck  by 
the  pageant. 

“  Massy  gracious  !  ”  he  cried  to  the  policeman. 
“Ain’t  yer  done  enuf,  to  ketch  one  pore  lettle 
nigger  boy,  ’thout  hookin’  de  Colonel’s  op’ra 
cloak  ?  ” 

The  policeman  was  then  called  to  the  witness- 
stand,  and,  folding  the  cloak,  —  quite  as  if  he 
was  the  Colonel,  —  proceeded  to  tell  what  he 
knew  of  the  affair  :  how  he  had  seen  this  black 
boy  before  the  Chinaman’s  door,  where  mud  had 
evidently  been  thrown  into  the  shop,  and  had 
caught  him  with  his  fist  full  of  wet  sand. 

At  this  point,  the  prosecuting  attorney  rose, 
and  said  that  in  the  hurry  of  business  he  had 
evidently  been  mistaken  as  to  the  age  and  size 
of  the  offender,  but  that,  nevertheless,  he  merited 
a  sharp  punishment. 

The  clerk  demanded  of  the  prisoner  if  he  had 
yet  found  his  “counsel.” 

John  Jasper,  who  had  caught  sight  of  Tom 
conferring  with  Pomp,  encouraged  by  a  wink 
from  the  young  man,  called  out  in  his  high,  thin 
voice, — 


THE  COLONEL’S  OPERA  CLOAK.  91 


“Dar’s  Massa  Tom,  —  he  knows  me,  don’t 
yer,  Massa  Tom  ?  An’  yer  knows  de  Colonel’s 
op’ra  cloak  yer  had  de  day  yer  took  Miss  Leslie 
out  to  ride  ;  an’  yer  knows  dat ’s  our  cloak,  an’ 
dat  yeller  man  he  hooked  it,  an’  I  seed  it  hangin’ 
in  his  ketchen  door,  an’  he  wouldn’t  let  me  hev 
it,  an’  I  frowed  mud  at  him,  an’  ”  — 

Tom  was  just  rising,  when  the  judge  said, — 

“  Mr.  Douglas,  this  young  desperado  seems  to 
be  a  friend  of  yours  :  what  can  you  tell  us  about 
him  ?  ” 

Tom,  who  had  been  talking  with  Pomp,  and 
saw  how  matters  stood,  briefly  explained  to  the 
judge  the  mistake  into  which  the  boy  had  fallen. 
He  knew  him  to  be  a  good  boy,  and,  if  the  judge 
would  release  him,  he  would  be  surety  for  his 
good  behavior :  the  trouble  was  simply  that  the 
boy  loved  this  opera  cloak,  “  not  wisely,  but 
too  well.” 

His  suggestion  was  at  once  carried  out ;  and 
Tom  then  and  there  entered  into  a  solemn 
covenant  with  the  State.  He  acknowledged 
himself  bound,  together  with  his  heirs,  that 
the  aforesaid  John  J.  Jackson,  laborer,  should 
keep  the  peace  and  be  of  good  behavior  for  the 
term  of  twelve  calendar  months  :  in  default  of 
which,  he,  the  said  Thomas  Douglas,  attorney 
at  law,  would  forfeit  the  sum  of  one  hundred 
dollars  unto  the  aforesaid  State,  out  of  his  goods 


92  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK . 


and  estate,  and,  in  default  thereof,  his  body  ;  and 
thereupon  he  became  the  legal  custodian  of  John 
Jasper  Jackson. 

Tom  meant  to  guard  this  fine  story  from 
Bessie ;  but  at  the  tea-table  the  thought  of 
Jasper’s  white  eyes  gleaming  over  the  railing 
came  across  him,  and  he  burst  into  such  a  fit  of 
laughter  that  the  family  all  jumped:  and  then 
they  insisted  on  sharing  the  joke. 

Bessie  woke  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  and 
laughed.  She  hoped  these  delightful  St.  Johns 
would  never  go  away.  To  have  them  at  hand 
was  like  having  a  season  ticket  to  a  circus. 


THE  COLONEL’S  OPERA  CLOAK .  93 


/ 


CHAPTER  VI. 

WHEN  Mrs.  Douglas  was  refurnishing  her 
back  parlor,  she  had  asked  the  Doctor,  as 
a  sort  of  compliment,  what  color  in  a  carpet 
would  please  him  best.  The  Doctor,  gratified  at 
being  consulted,  replied,  “  Let  the  carpet  be  red, 
and  let  the  paper  have  gold  buttons  on  it ; — 
she  had  already  bought  a  Morris  paper,  with 
dado  and  tiles,  —  “  and  let  the  furniture  be  red, 
too,  —  it  looks  so  cheerful.” 

Mrs.  Douglas,  like  the  wise  woman  that  she 
was,  smiled  on  the  Doctor,  and  forthwith  went 
her  own  way. 

The  Doctor  was  the  man  who  had  always 
called  “gimp”  “jimp,”  till  he  had  felt  the 
ennobling  influence  of  woman’s  love ;  and  who 
still  spoke  of  “  shams  ”  as  “  mock  pillows.” 
He  knew  not  a  polonaise  from  an  arab,  strange 
to  say,  after  years  of  married  life  ;  and,  when  his 
wife’s  suit  of  Russian  gray  came  home,  he  asked 
in  a  grieved  tone  why  she  and  Bessie  never 
wore  “  red  spencers.” 


94  THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK . 


Well,  the  room  was  refurnished :  a  few  red 
chairs  relieved  its  fashionable  gloom,  and  the 
open  fire  put  a  soul  into  it.  A  room,  be  it 
ever  so  rich,  is  a  tomb  without  an  open  fire  and 
sunshine. 

The  Doctor  looked  about  him  with  pride,  when 
it  was  furnished.  It  was  his  taste,  you  know ! 
He  did  not  miss  the  red  carpet  nor  the  gold  spots 
on  the  paper,  which  Mrs.  Douglas  had  inter¬ 
preted  as  being  the  “  gold  buttons  ”  designated. 

“  This  is  a  room  to  live  in,”  he  said  ;  and  he 
slipped  into  his  easy-chair  by  the  fire,  and  put 
his  feet  on  the  fender. 

The  rain  was  beating  furiously  on  the  panes, 
and  the  wind  was  lashing  the  vines  against  the 
windows. 

The  poor  Doctor  had  been  out  the  night 
before  and  all  day  long  in  the  rain,  and  he 
prayed  earnestly  that  pain  might  cease,  or  that, 
if  it  should  not,  its  victims  might  send  for  the 
doctor  around  the  corner. 

“This  is  the  night  of  nights  for  Mrs.  St.  John 
to  have  the  neuralgia,”  said  Bessie,  in  an  en¬ 
couraging  tone,  as  she  peeped  out  of  the  window. 
“  Her  unselfish  soul  would  revel  in  sending 
poor  Pomp  out  in  this  furious  storm.  I  seem  to 
hear  the  night-bell,  and  Pomp’s  ‘  Massa  Doctor, 
Miss  Marie,  she ’s  ’most  done  dead  wid  sort  o’ 
fits  in  her  mouf,  —  ’pears  like  to  be  de  toofache, 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK.  95 


ef  anybody  else  had  done  got  it.  She ’s  been 
’mos’  dyin’  all  day,  but  she  wouldn’t  boder 
nobody  to  git  de  doctor,  tell  in  de  middle  ob  de 
night,  ’cause  she  hates  to  boder  folks  in  de 
daytime.’  ” 

“  Stop,  Bess,”  said  the  Doctor,  wearily.  “  You 
make  me  tired.  Heaven  rest  the  sufferers 
to-night,  and  delay  Mrs.  St.  John’s  neuralgia 
until  morning.” 

About  one  o’clock,  the  Doctor’s  night-bell  was 
pulled  furiously  ;  but  he,  poor  man,  was  so  over¬ 
come  with  sleep,  that  he  only  dreamed  that  he 
was  late  for  the  cars,  and  was  making  frantic 
but  ineffectual  efforts  to  jump  on  to  a  morning 
train. 

A  second  ring  awakened  Tom,  who  put  his 
head  out  of  the  window.  “Halloo!”  said  he. 
“  Want  the  Doctor  ?  ” 

“  Oh,  massy  gracious,  Massa  Tom  !  ”  Pomp’s 
voice  called  from  the  darkness.  “  Call  de  Doc¬ 
tor,  for  massy’s  sake:  my  little  Jasper’s  dyin’, 
I  ’se  sure.  Don’t  wait  for  nuffin’  but  de  physic- 
jugs,  an’  come  ’long,  for  he ’s  got  de  croup  or  de 
colic  or  de  consum’tion,  or  suthin’.  Miss  Leslie 
she ’s  a-holdin’  of  him  and  nussin’  of  him  whiles 
I  runs  here.” 

Tom  roused  his  father,  who,  with  his  eyes 
half-shut,  gathered  up  his  medicines  ;  and  the 


96  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


two  set  out  together.  Pomp  had  vanished  in  the 
darkness. 

When  they  reached  the  house,  Clarence,  in 
his  night-gown,  opened  the  door,  crying  with  all 
his  might, — 

“O  Doctor,  do  hurry  and  give  Jasper  some 
stuff,  for  he  ’s  ’most  dying  !  ”  And  the  poor  little 
fellow  burst  into  a  howl  of  woe,  and  then  threw 
himself  down  on  the  stairs. 

In  the  parlor,  Leslie  sat  upon  the  broad,  low 
satin  sofa,  half-holding  the  sick  chilcf,  who,  pale 
and  weak,  breathed  only  in  faint  groans. 

She  did  not  speak  when  they  entered,  and 
hardly  noticed  Tom,  —  he  seemed  far  away, 
with  the  sunshine  and  the  daylight.  Tears  were 
slowly  rolling  down  her  pale  cheeks.  Tom 
wished  he  could  kiss  them  away,  and  then  was 
ashamed  of  the  thought,  where  one  thought  only 
seemed  in  place ;  and  he  humbly  and  quietly 
seated  himself  in  the  shadow. 

The  Doctor  examined  the  boy,  and  asked 
questions  of  the  others.  His  throat  had  been 
sore  for  several  days,  and  he  had  “  felt  sick,  — 
but  not  so  sick  that  he  couldn’t  tussle  and 
wrastle,”  Clarence  explained,  as  he  stood  shiver¬ 
ing  in  his  scanty  raiment. 

“  Doctor,”  said  Pomp,  drawing  him  into  a 
corner  near  Tom,  “  I  mus’  tell  yer  de  symp- 
tims.  John  Jasper  ain’t  never  dreffle  strong, — 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  97 


his  constitution  ain’t  good.  He  ’s  had  de  con- 
sum’ tion  twice,  an’  times  an’  times  he ’d  a 
perished,  ef  I  hadn’t  ben  a-lookin’  after  him. 
Yes’day  aft’noon  he  fell  down  on  to  his  side, — 
de  side  what ’s  had  de  fits  into  it  before  ;  an’ 
wid  his  sore  froat,  an’  all,  I  know  he’s  gwine 
fur  to  die. 

“When  de  death-cravin’  come  on,  says  I  to 
me,  ‘He’s  a-gwine  to  die.’  Fust,  he  axed  fur 
some  tripe,  an’  I  cooked  it  fur  him,  an’  he  eat  it 
all  up.  Den  he  axed  fur  some  watermillion,  — 
pore  boy,  —  but  I  couldn’t  git  him  none,  ’cause 
’tain’t  de  time  fur  watermillions.  Den  he  axed 
fur  some  pie,  an’  I  giv  him  dat,  an’  he  eat  it  all 
up  ;  an’  den  he  axed  fur  some  fish,  an’  I  got  dat, 
an’  cook  it  an’  giv  it  to  him,  an’  he  eat  it  all  up. 
I  couldn’t  git  no  pigs’  feet  fur  him,  so  he  axed 
fur  liver,  an’  I  got  it  an’  cook  it,  an’,  don’t  yer 
b’lieve,  he  never  eat  one  mou’ful  of  it !  Den  I 
fought,  he ’s  gwine  to  die  right  away,  dis  aft’noon. 

“  After  dat,  he  got  better,  an’  spoke  up  smart 
an’  peart,  an’  I  fought  p’raps  we  could  bring 
him  round  ;  but  now,  Massa,  he ’s  gwine,  —  I ’ve 
seen  heaps  of  ’em  gwine,  an’  I  knows  de  looks.” 

“  I  am  afraid  he  is,  my  poor  fellow,”  said  the 
Doctor. 

“Don’t  tell  Miss  Leslie,”  said  Pomp,  eager  to 
spare  his  darling  one  pain.  “  Don’t  tell  her,  not 
tell  it  comes.” 


98  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


“  See,  Jasper,”  said  Wilfrid,  his  trousers  hang¬ 
ing  by  one  suspender,  “  you  may  have  my  foot¬ 
ball.” 

The  poor  little  eyes  unclosed,  and  the  boy 
opened  his  arms  to  receive  it. 

“  That  ain’t  nothing,  Jasper,”  added  Wilfrid. 
“I  ’ll  give  you  my  new  six-bladed  knife  with  a 
file  and  a  tooth-pick  and  a  glove-buttoner.” 

A  faint  smile  touched  the  poor  little  face. 

Tom  never  thought  of  laughing  at  the  inap¬ 
propriate  gift. 

“  O  Jasper,”  cried  Clarence,  bursting  into  a 
torrent  of  tears,  and  throwing  himself  on  the 
floor,  “  you  may  have  every  thing  I ’ve  got,  all 
my  marbles,  and  my  new  alleys,  and  the  kite 
and  the  gun,  and  every  thing,  if  you  ’ll  only  get 
well !  And  I  ’ll  let  you  slide  on  the  banisters 
every  day,  if  you  won’t  die.” 

The  crying  aroused  the  sick  child,  and  at 
the  last  words  he  opened  his  eyes  and  looked 
about. 

“  Massa  Doctor,”  said  he,  in  a  faint,  choked 
little  voice,  “  is  I  gwine  to  die  sure  ?  Is  I  gwine 
to  glory  ’lone,  ’thout  nobody  ?  ” 

“  Oh,  I  hope  not,  my  little  fellow.  Swallow 
this,  and  try  to  get  well,”  said  the  Doctor,  in  a 
cheerful  tone. 

“  I  hasn’t  never  seen  de  Lord  Jesus,”  said  the 
child.  “  But  I  done  reckon  I  knows  him.  Ole 


THE  COLONEL  'S  OPERA  CLOAK .  99 


Sally,  she  loves  to  die,  and  she  said  he  was  alius 
hangin’  ’bout  de  gate  to  fotch  in  de  folks  dat 
wants  to  git  in,  an  int’duce  ’em  to  his  frien’s. 
I  ain’t  got  nobody  dar,  ’cept  Joseph  an’  Moses 
an’  dat  crowd,  an’  I  wants  to  wait,  Massa  Doc¬ 
tor,  tell  my  gran’fa’  goes  fust,  to  be  lookin’  out 
fur  me;  fur  it’s  dreffle  dark  an’  rainy  to-night, 
Massa  Doctor,  and  I  ’se  afeerd  dat  de  Lord 
Jesus  can’t  see  a  lettle  nigger  boy  when  de 
night ’s  so  black.  I  s’pect  I ’d  better  holler  my 
name  all  de  time,  so  he  ’ll  know  I  ’se  a-comin  . 

After  a  few  minutes,  he  broke  the  silence 
again :  — 

“  I  done  wish  I  could  wait,  Massa  Doctor, 
tell  my  gran’fa’  an’  Miss  Leslie ’s  done  gone  ;  fur 
my  gran’fa’,  he ’d  know,  de  fust  time  I  called 
out,  an’  I  d  see  Miss  Leslie  a-comin  to  fotch 
me,  in  a  white  dress,  an’  tell  me  de  supper  was 
waitin’  hot,  like  de  day  she  did  when  I  got  los’.” 

Mrs.  St.  John,  whose  faint  sobs  had  been 
heard  in  the  next  room,  appeared  at  the  door  in 
her  wrapper,  with  a  severe  look  upon  her  face. 

u  Doctor,”  said  she,  “  don’t  you  know  of  some 
stuff  to  cure  that  child  ?  I  don’t  see,  for  my 
part,  what’s  the  good  of  having  a  doctor,  if  he 
can’t  cure  a  poor  little  darkey.  We  were  often 
ill  South,  but  we  always  got  well  ;  and  here  we 
are  alive.  I  don’t  know  what  the  Colonel  will 
do  to  you,  if  you  let  that  boy  die.” 


100 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK. 


The  Doctor  took  no  notice  of  her,  and  she 
went  back  to  bed,  convinced  that  she  had  stirred 
him  up  to  his  duty. 

Jasper  opened  his  languid  eyes. 

“  I  wants  to  see  de  Colonel,”  he  piped,  in  a 
high,  thin  voice,  “ef  I  ’se  a-gwine  to  die.  Massa 
Doctor,  can’t  I  live  tell  de  Colonel  gits  home  ? 
He  said  he’d  fotch  me  suthin’,  an’  I  wants  to 
see  what  it ’s  gwine  to  be.  I  loves  de  Colonel, 
an’  de  Colonel  loves  me.  He  said  I  might 
black  his  boots  all  de  time,  when  he  come 
agin. 

Pomp  quietly  followed  the  Doctor’s  orders,  and 
Leslie  bathed  the  cold  forehead  and  the  passive 
hands.  She  bent  over  the  child,  and  kissed  him. 
It  seemed  to  Tom,  sitting  in  the  shadow,  that  an 
angel  had  appeared  to  do  a  humble  service. 

Outside,  the  watchman  paced  the  sidewalk, 
and  the  rain  drove  against  the  windows.  The 
bells  clanged  four  o’clock. 

The  little  French  clock  ticked  on  :  it  was  the 
only  bit  of  furniture  that. did  its  duty  in  that 
“  rack-and-manger  ”  house. 

In  the  dim  parlor,  love,  the  best  of  all  things, 
was  surrounding  and  comforting  the  little  black 
boy,  as  his  life  was  slowly  wearing  away.  He 
held  the  ball  in  his  arms.  The  boys  had  poured 
out  their  playthings  around  him,  and  he  ap¬ 
peared  to  be  enjoying  them. 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK .  IOI 


Once  in  a  while  he  was  seized  with  a  terrible 
pain,  and  then  it  seemed  as  if  the  boys  would 
die  with  agony.  Jasper  was  of  the  same  age  as 
Clarence.  I  do  not  believe  the  boys  knew  any 
difference  in  their  affection  for  him  and  for  each 
other.  Jasper  and  Clarence  had  often  slept  to¬ 
gether  on  the  parlor  sofa  or  on  the  stairs,  when 
sleep  overtook  them  there. 

The  terrible  spasm  over,  Jasper  opened  his 
eyes,  which  looked  large  and  white. 

“  Ef  I  ’se  gwine  to  die,  Massa  Doctor,  an’  de 
Colonel  ain’t  come  home,  I  wants  de  Colonel’s 
op’ra  cloak  frowed  over  me.  Ef  I  ken  smell  de 
Colonel’s  cigar  in  it,  an’  ef  I  shets  my  eyes, 
’pears  like  de  Colonel ’s  here.  I  ’mos’  hear  him 
say, 4  Jasper,  I  ’se — fotched  — you  —  somethin’.” 

Leslie  looked  at  the  Doctor  with  questioning 
eyes,  but  found  no  encouragement  in  his  look. 
The  little  head  grew  heavy  on  her  lap,  the 
breathing  grew  fainter  and  slower.  Leslie  drew 
the  opera  cloak  closer  about  the  boy,  as  she  felt 
him  shiver. 

For  a  moment  the  room  was  silent. 

“My  dear,”  said  the  Doctor,  “it  is  over.  Lit¬ 
tle  Jasper  has  gone.”  Then  Leslie  bent  over  him 
and  cried.  She  had  tried  so  hard  to  keep  back 
the  tears  before.  Pomp  came  to  comfort  her,  as 
if  Jasper’s  death  had  been  a  greater  grief  to  her 
than  to  him. 


102  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK . 


The  boys,  in  utter  misery,  were  sobbing  loudly. 
Mrs.  St.  John  was  endeavoring  to  faint,  and 
Pomp  was  needed  to  take  care  of  her.  Tom 
took  Leslie’s  burning  hands  in  his,  hardly  know¬ 
ing  what  he  did. 

“Come  home  with  us,”  said  he.  “You  have 
done  all  you  can  :  let  the  others  do  the  rest.' 
Although  she  shook  her  head,  there  was  comfort 
for  her  in  his  voice. 

The  gray  light  struggled  in  through  the  shades 
with  a  dismal  loneliness  that  the  night  had  failed 
to  bring. 

The  boys,  worn  out  with  crying,  crept  away, 
awed  into  stillness  by  the  quiet  of  death.  Their 
little  playfellow  now  seemed  old  and  wise  to 
them,  holding  a  secret  they  could  not  know  ; 
and  they  turned  from  him  in  fear. 

“  Nobody  shall  touch  him  but  Pomp  and  me,” 
said  Leslie,  all  at  once  a  thoughtful  woman. 

She  brought  a  night-gown  for  the  little  fellow, 
and  made  a  bed  on  the  sofa  to  lay  him  on. 

Pomp,  to  whom  she  had  always  turned  for 
comfort,  was  lost  in  admiration. 

“  O  Miss  Leslie,  honey,”  said  he,  in  a  trem¬ 
bling  voice,  “  don’t  yer  do  any  more  :  yer  acts, 
chile,  ’s  ef  yer  was  de  gran’fa’  of  dis  pore  lettle 
boy.  Yer  go  to  yer  bed,  an’  git  a  lettle  sleep.” 

“  O  Pomp,”  said  the  girl,  “  don’t  send  me 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK .  103 


to  bed!  You’ve  sat  up  for  me  many  a  night 
when  I  was  sick  or  sorry ;  and  I  shan’t  desert 
you  now  in  your  trouble.  Let  the  others  go. 
I  will  stay  with  you.” 

The  Doctor  and  Tom  went  away,  and  left  the 
tried  friends  together  in  the  dreary  house. 

In  the  morning  Mrs.  Douglas  went  to  see 
Leslie.  She  knew  that  Mrs.  St.  John  would 
only  appear  as  chief  mourner,  —  not  a  helpful 
character  to  assume. 

The  unruly  door  between  the  parlors  had  been 
closed.  Mrs.  St.  John  had  exchanged  rooms 
with  Leslie :  it  made  her  nervous  to  be  so  near 
a  dead  person. 

Leslie  was  laying  flowers  about  the  parlor. 

“  I  shall  never  forget  your  sending  me  these,” 
said  she,  going  to  Mrs.  Douglas,  with  a  tearful 
smile.  But  Mrs.  Douglas  had  not  sent  them. 

“  Nobody  can  do  any  thing  for  me,”  she  added. 
“  The  boys  have  been  so  good,  poor  fellows! 
They  are  almost  sick  with  crying.  I  am  going 
with  Pomp  this  afternoon,  to  buy  a  place  in  the 
cemetery  for  poor  little  Jasper.  Oh,  what  a 
dreadful  thing  it  is  to  die  —  or  to  live  !  ”  cried 
the  girl,  breaking  down,  and  throwing  her  arms 
about  Mrs.  Douglas,  who  took  her  to  her  heart 
in  real  motherly  fashion,  smoothing  her  hair  and 
kissing  her. 

"  You  must  come  to  stay  with  us  for  a  few 


104  '  THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK. 


days,  my  dear,  when  this  is  over,  and  get  rested,” 
she  said. 

The  next  day  Tom  and  Bessie  went  to  the 
house.  The  minister  was  there.  He  read  a  few 
lines  of  comfort,  and  spoke  words  of  kindness  ; 
and  then  Pomp  and  the  others  took  little  Jasper 
to  his  last  resting-place. 

They  stood  by  the  grave  for  a  moment,  while 
Pomp  muttered  a  short  prayer,  and  reverently 
raised  his  hat,  —  it  was  Mr.  Cavello’s  hat,  —  and 
then,  drawing  the  Colonel’s  opera  cloak  about 
him,  he  put  Leslie  and  the  rest  of  the  company 
into  the  carriages,  and  turned  his  face  toward 
home. 

“  Dis  yere  death  ’s  a  mighty  myste’ous  thing, 
Miss  Leslie,”  said  Pomp,  as  the  two  sat,  a  short 
time  after  this,  on  the  kitchen  stairs,  waiting  for 
the  kettle  to  boil.  Stairs  were  much  approved 
of  as  seats  by  the  St.  Johns  :  they  were  always 
safe ;  and  chairs  were  treacherous,  and  never 
could  be  depended  on. 

“Yes,  Pomp,”  said  Leslie:  “a  few  days  ago, 
and  we  could  ask  Jasper  what  he  knew  or 
felt  or  thought ;  and  now,  if  we  asked  him, 
he  couldn’t  tell  us  so  that  we  could  under¬ 
stand.” 

“Why,  Miss  Leslie,”  asked  Pomp,  in  sudden 
alarm,  “why  couldn’t  we  un’stan’  him?  Yer 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK .  105 


don’t  ’spect  he’ll  talk  de  wrong  way,  like  de  Jew 
in  de  pawn-shop,  or  de  Chinyman,  does  yer,  — 
so ’t  I  can’t  un’stan’  him  when  I  gits  dar  ?  I 
hope  he  ain’t  gwine  to  git  so  larned  dat  I  shall 
hev  to  be  int’duced  to  him  !  Does  yer  tink, 
Miss  Leslie,  dey  grows  up,  or  stays  de  way  dey 
was  when  dey  goes  in  ?  ” 

“  I  don’t  know,”  said  Leslie,  who  tried  in  her 
simple  way  to  be  good,  and  in  so  trying  wrought 
out  a  sweet  and  Christlike  religion.  “  I  don  t 
know  :  only  the  hymn  says,  — 

‘  We  shall  know  each  other  there.’ 

I  reckon,  Pomp,  it  will  be  just  as  if  we  had  been 
away  from  our  friends  for  a  good  while,  and 
when  we  saw  them  again,  they  were  changed, 
and  were  gentler  and  kinder  and  more  beauti¬ 
ful  ;  and  we  should  see  that  they  were  different, 
and  yet  they’d  be  the  same.  We ’d  know  them 
as  soon  as  they  spoke,  even  though  it  was  in  a 
dark  room,  and  we  didn’t  know  they  were  there.” 

Pomp’s  tearful  eyes  glistened  with  pride. 

“  Dar ’s  good  comfort  in  dat,  Miss  Leslie,”  he 
said.  “  ’Pears  like  de  Lord ’s  speakin’  froo  yer. 
’Pears  like  I  sees  John  Jasper  now,  all  dressed  up 
an’  lookin’  as  good  as  Massa  Tom ;  yit  he  ’ll  be 
my  boy  an’  yer  boy  ;  an’  I  done  reckon  dat 
chile  won’t  leave  his  eyes  off  dat  gate  a-watchin 
fur  yer  an’  fur  me. 


106  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK . 


“  De  way  to  Prov’dence  is  pas’  findin’  out, 
Miss  Leslie,”  added  he,  piously  rolling  his  eyes. 

“  Somehow,  I  don’t  look  wid  no  respec’,  no  more, 
on  de  Colonel’s  op’ra  cloak.  I  feels,  somehow 
or  nudder,  dat  ef  dat  cloak  had  done  his  duty, 
dat  chile  would  be  tumblin’  downstairs  or  suthin’, 
dis  minute  here.  I  tole  Jasper,  on  Monday,  not 
to  go  out  widout  puttin’  on  de  op’ra  cloak,  fear 
he ’d  cotch  cole  in  his  chist ;  an’  nowhar  could 
he  fin’  it.  ’Pears  sometimes ’s  ef  dat  cloak  had 
got  legs  on  to  it  dat  we  can’t  see,  an’  jes’  walked 
itself  off  an’  hid  under  tings  an’  behin’  tings. 

I  shouldn’t  never  hev  foun’  whar  it  was 

V 

a-hidin’,  ef  I  hedn’t  los’  my  shoe,  an’  I  was 
scoochin’  down,  lookin’  under  ev’ry  ting,  an’  dar 
was  dat  op’ra  cloak  a-squeezin’  in  ’tween  de  wall 
an’  de  sofy,  whar  nobody  wouldn’t  never  hev 
looked  fur  it. 

“Why,  we  might  hev  gone  away  from  dis 
house,  an’  never  hev  foun’  it,  Miss  Leslie,  an’ 
what  would  de  Colonel  hev  said  ?  I  reckon  I 
knows  !  ” 

“  O  Pomp,”  said  Leslie,  the  tears  filling  her 
beautiful  eyes,  “  don’t  wish  Jasper  back  !  He’s 
better  off  than  we  are.” 

“  Yes,”  said  Pomp  :  “  I  reckon  he ’s  better  off ; 
an’  yit  he  was  putty  good  off,  when  he  was 
here.  Ef  yer  count  up  what  folks  calls  massies,  * 
he  hed  mos’  on  ’em.  He  hedn’t  no  gran’ma’, 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  10 7 


but  there ’s  a  good  many  folks  hain’t.  I  hain’t 
got  no  gran’ma’, —  no,  nor  no  gran’fa’,  nuther ; 
but  I  don’  tink  much  ’bout  it,  ’cept  when  I 
hears  folks  speakin’  on  ’em.  But  how  ’ll  dis  be  : 
—  John  Jasper’s  mo’er  died  when  he  was  a 
little  baby.  She  won’t  know  him  :  he  won’t 
know  her,  ’less  his  gran’ma’  tells  him  who  she  is. 
But,  den,”  said  Pomp,  falling  into  confusion  in 
his  genealogies,  as  many  others  have  done,  “  his 
gran’ma’  she  never  seen  Jasper!  It’s  me  dat 
hed  ought  to  passed  away  fust,  to  hev  hed  tings 
all  straighted  up.  ’Pears  like  nothin’  don’t  go 
straight,  ef  I  isn’t  dar  to  ’tend  to  it.” 

“  I  reckon  things  will  go  right  in  heaven  with¬ 
out  you,  Pomp,”  said  Leslie,  with  a  faint  smile  ; 
“but  I  am  sure  they  wouldn’t  here  in  this  family. 
I  wish  we  were  like  the  Douglases.  Every  thing 
goes  so  smoothly  there,  and  they  are  so  good  ! 
They  help  poor  people,  and  they  go  to  mission- 

schools.” 

Pomp  looked  very  solemn. 

“  I  used  to  be  awful  ’ligious,”  he  said.  “  I 
used  to  go  to  heaps  o’  woods-meetin’s,  an’  I  hol¬ 
lered  louder  ’n  any  one  on  ’em.  Why,  Miss 
Leslie,  I  was  baptized  in  de  Rappahannick,  in 
jes’  de  spot,  in  de  very  water,  dat  Gen’l  Washin’- 
ton  was  baptized  in,  —  no,  ’twasn’t  Gen’l  Wash- 
in’ ton,  nuther:  ’twas  Joyce  Heth.  I  done 
'member  she  was  Gen’l  Washin’ton’s  nuss ! 


108  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK . 


So  I  was  baptized  on  hysteric  groun’,  yer 
see ! 

“  Oh,  I  got  ’ligion,  in  dem  days,  so  dere  want 
no  doin’  nothin’  wid  me ;  but,”  Pomp  sighed,  “  I 
ain’t  hed  no  time  dese  las’  years  fur  ’ligion.  I  ’se 
had  to  see  to  all  o’  yer.” 

“  They  all  ran  away  but  you,”  said  Leslie : 
“that  was  when  I  was  very  little.” 

“Yes,  dey  got  free,  an’  so  dey  run  off.  Dey 
said  I  was  a  fool  to  stay  here  ;  but  I  ’membered 
what  I  done  promise  to  ole  Missus  when  she 
was  a-dyin’.  Says  she,  ‘  Don’t  yer  never  leave 
Miss  Marie,  ’cause  she ’s  hard  to  git  ’long  wid, 
an  nobody  can’t  git  ’long  wid  her  ’cept  jes’  yer.’ 
An’  den  de  Colonel  he  got  pore,  an’  I  wa’n’t 
goin’  to  clar  out  when  my  frien’s  gits  pore. 
Dat ’s  de  time  when  yer  wants  yer  frien’s. 

“  My  brudder  he’s  in  Phil’delphy.  He’s  got 
a  barber’s  shop,  an’  he  goes  out  ha’r-dressin’, — 
he  can’t  do  it  no  better  nor  I  kin, —  an’  he  makes 
heaps  o’  money.  He  dresses  up  mighty  fine, 
dey  says,  an’  goes  scootin’  round  wid  a  cane,  an’ 
one  o’  dem  high-top  hats,  like  Massa  Tom’s. 
He’s  putty  high  in  meetin’s,  too!  He  passes 
de  box,  an’  he’s  one  ob  de  deacons.  I  ’spect 
he’ll  be  powerful  high  in  de  kingdom.  But  de 
good  Lord  he  ’ll  ’cuse  me,  I  ’spect ;  fur  I  can’t 
git  no  time  to  be  ’ligious,  —  dar’s  suthin’  to  do 
allers.  I  don’t  seem  to  git  froo. 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  109 


“  When  we  gits  settled  agin,  I  must  look  up 
my  ’ligion.  I  ain’t  kep’  but  a  little  on’t, — jes’ 
to  say  my  pra’ers,  an’  do  my  duty,  an’  love  de 
Lord  an’  ev’rybody,  —  dat  is,  ev’rybody ’cept  — 
’cept  Massa  Cavello ;  but,  den,  he  don’t  ’mount 
to  much.” 

“  I  think  that  is  pretty  much  the  whole  of  re¬ 
ligion,”  said  Leslie.  “  It  always  comforts  me  to 
know  that  you  pray  for  us,  Pomp  ;  and  I ’m  sure 
nobody  in  the  world  is  so  unselfish  as  you.” 

“  Oh,  I  ain’t  onselfish,”  said  Pomp.  “  I  hasn’t 
never  done  tings  fur  folks.  I  hasn’t  visited  ’em 
in  prison,  an’  I  hasn’t  gin  clo’es  to  nobody,  an’ 
I  hain’t  fed  nobody  what  was  hungry,  — ’cept  de 
boys,  of  course :  dey ’s  ben  hungry  times  ’nuf, 
an’  I  ’se  put  dere  clo’es  on  times  ’nuf,  too. 

“  Now  jes’  look  at  dat  kittle  !  ”  cried  Pomp. 
“  I  can’t  talk  to  nobody,  but  dat  kittle  gits  so 
res’less  an’  biles  over,  pokin’  up  de  kiver  like  he 
couldn’t  wait  tell  I  gits  dar !  ” 

“  Pomp  !  ”  cried  Clarence,  coming  to  the  stairs. 
“  Hurry  up  there  !  I ’m  ’most  starved  to  death. 
Isn’t  supper  ’most  ready?” 

“  Well,”  said  Leslie,  rising,  “  I  almost  wish  I 
was  where  Jasper  is.  What ’s  the  use  of  being 
raised,  to  wish,  half  the  time,  you  hadn’t  been 
born  ?  ” 

Pomp  wiped  his  tears  away. 

“  Nobody  hasn’t  ben  sayin’  any  ting  to  yer 


HO  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK . 


has  he?”  he  asked,  nodding  his  head  in  the  di¬ 
rection  of  Mr.  Cavello’s  room.  “  I  hes  set  Massa 
Tom  off  for  you !  I  wishes  de  Colonel  would 
come  back  an’  see  to  dat  nigger,  —  for  I  ’spect 
he  ain’t  nothin’  else,  —  a-passin’  hisself  off  for  a 
gent’man.” 

Mr.  Cavello  had  been  missing,  while  little  Jas¬ 
per  lay  dead  in  the  house ;  and  he  now  crossed 
himself  as  he  passed  the  parlor  door. 

Leslie  despised  him.  What  a  mean,  contempt¬ 
ible  little  soul  he  had  !  How  noble  Tom’s  was  ! 
But,  then,  of  course  there  was  no  one  so  kind, 
so  good,  so  handsome,  so  generous,  so  learned 
as  Tom  !  She  could  only  gaze  upon  him  from 
afar :  he  could  never  care  any  thing  for  a  girl 
like  her. 

She  thrilled  with  pain,  as  she  compared  herself 
with  Miss  Henderson,  about  whom  she  had  heard 
Bessie  tease  him,  and  who  made  her  feel  so  stupid. 
Every  thing  about  Miss  Henderson  spoke  out: 
the  very  ruffles  plumed  themselves,  and  hinted 
at  the  shabby  frills  on  Leslie’s  dress.  Her  eyes 
said,  “  See  how  bright  we  are  !  ”  and  her  smile, 
“  How  gracious  I  am  !  ”  When  she  played,  her 
white  hands  cried,  “  Listen !  did  you  ever  hear 
such  music  ?  ”  and,  when  she  ceased  playing,  she 
slipped  so  gracefully  into  her  place,  sometimes 
saying,  “  I ’m  glad  you  enjoy  it :  it  is  one  of  my 
favorite  sonatas.  How  it  recalls  those  heavenly 
evenings  in  Heidelberg!” 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK .  'ill 


Paor  Leslie  !  she  didn’t  know  where  Heidel¬ 
berg  was.  When  she  finished  her  simple  songs, 
her  cheeks  got  red,  and  she  wanted  to  put  her 
face  in  her  hands.  She  wished  she  was  a  fine 
young  lady,  like  Miss  Henderson. 

Pomp  had  said  he  had  set  Tom  off  for  her  ; 
and,  although  she  smiled  when  she  thought  of  it, 
it  comforted  her. 


1 12  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK . 


CHAPTER  VII. 


HE  warm  weather  came  that  year  all  at 


once.  Mrs.  St.  John  bloomed  into  life 
with  the  flowers,  and  left  her  bed  when  they 
arose  from  theirs. 

She  sent  Leslie  for  patterns  of  muslins  and 
tissues  ;  and  dress-makers  and  seamstresses 
thronged  the  house.  Her  listless  manner  passed 
away,  and  she  fell  enthusiastically  into  the  dis¬ 
cussion  of  flounces,  frills,  side-plaiting,  and  box- 
plaiting. 

The  Colonel  had  sent  home  more  money  lately, 
and  they  had  been  able  to  have  new  clothes  and 
a  better  table,  and  had  paid  fewer  bills.  Mrs. 
St.  John  sent  the  Doctor  an  elegant  dressing- 
gown, —  he  had  two  already,  —  and  to  Mrs.  Doug¬ 
las  fresh  flowers  every  day,  but  took  no  more 
notice  of  the  Doctor  s  bill  than  if  it  had  never 
been  sent.  One  May  morning  the  sun  poured 
down  as  hot  as  in  July  ;  and,  cheerful  and  amia¬ 
ble  and  handsome,  Mrs.  St.  John  announced  that 
she  was  going  out  of  town  with  Pomp,  to  engage 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK .  1 1 3 


summer  board.  .  She  had  heard  of  a  place  in  the 
country  which  was  just  the  thing. 

The  proprietor  of  the  hotel  was  quite  struck 
by  the  appearance  of  this  elegant  Southern  lady, 
attended  by  a  colored  servant ;  and  he  exerted 
himself  to  please  her. 

She  must  have  all  large  rooms,  and  they  must 
all  be  on  the  front,  and  they  must  open  into  each 
other.  Two  large  rooms  on  the  front  were  al¬ 
ready  engaged  ;  but  she  said  the  people  must 
take  some  other  rooms  ;  they  couldn’t  expect,  if 
they  only  took  two,  to  have  a  choice  situation  ; 
she  wanted  five  large  rooms.  The  polite  land¬ 
lord  said  he  would  see  the  “  other  party,”  and 
try  to  arrange  the  matter.  Mrs.  St.  John  in¬ 
quired  particularly  about  the  table,  and  looked 
critically  over  the  bill  of  fare. 

She  did  not  demur  at  the  high  price,  but  left 
her  decision  hanging  on  the  withdrawal  of  the 
“  other  persons.” 

After  three  days,  during  which  time  the  land¬ 
lord  had  interviewed  the  “  party,”  he  wrote  to 
her  that  he  had  lost  the  people  who  had  the 
front  rooms,  but  considered  it  best  to  let  them 
go,  as  her  family  was  so  large,  and  wanted  so 
many  apartments. 

Mrs.  St.  John  dropped  the  letter  behind  her 
bed,  after  reading  it.  “That  horrid  Yankee  !  ” 

she  .said.  “  As  if  I  didn’t  know  where  I  wanted 

8 


1 14  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


to  go !  ”  And  she  decided  now  to  go  to  the 
sea-shore. 

After  a  few  days,  the  man  wrote  again,  and 
then  again  ;  and,  receiving  no  answer,  he  went 
humbly  to  the  “  other  party,”  and  coaxed  him 
back  at  a  reduced  price. 

Mrs.  St.  John  and  Pomp  took  a  trip  to  the 
sea-shore.  The  hotel  was  a  very  fine  one,  built 
on  rocks  directly  overlooking  the  sea. 

The  rooms  were  nearly  all  engaged  ;  but  she 
made  the  landlord  turn  people  in  and  out,  and 
finally  arranged  to  go  on  the  first  of  July,  with  all 
her  family,  for  the  summer. 

She  wrote  to  the  Colonel  that  she  was  going 
there  to  get  Leslie  off ;  that  his  horrid  friend  was 
making  love  to  her  all  the  time,  and  wouldn’t 
look  at  Leslie ;  and  that  the  Doctor’s  son  did  not 
commit  himself,  although  she  had  given  him 
chances  every  day  in  the  week  and  Sundays 
beside  ;  for  she  made  Leslie  go  to  church,  and 
had  taken  a  seat  for  her  right  in  front  of  the 
Douglases ;  and  she  had  tried  to  induce  her  to 
take  a  class  in  the  mission-school  where  Tom 
taught ;  but  Leslie  was  so  stubborn,  and  said  she 
didn’t  know  enough  to  teach,  —  as  if  that  made 
any  difference  !  Now  she  should  give  her  a  last 
chance. 

The  amiable  Colonel,  who  was  sojourning  in 
St.  Louis,  talking  of  claims  and  institutions, 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


115 


and  the  poor,  homeless,  wandering,  unhappy  mil¬ 
lions  of  the  colored  race,  and  of  the  blue  blood 
and  untrammelled  spirits  of  the  chivalry,  —  but 
who  had  smiles  for  Northern  land-purchasers,  and 
good-humoredly  ate  their  dinners,  —  replied  that 
her  idea  was  a  good  one,  but  not  to  let  the  little 
girl  marry  any  fellow  who  would  be  unkind  to 
her. 

The  first  of  July  came,  and  the  family  set  off 
for  the  Elden  House,  in  high  spirits.  Mr.  Cavello 
had  gone  to  a  neighboring  city  to  dine  with  a 
friend  ;  and  Mrs.  St.  John  had  neglected  to  tell 
him  what  day  she  was  going ;  or,  rather,  she 
decided  to  go  while  he  was  away. 

The  boys  were  all  in  new  suits  ;  Leslie  wore 
a  dark  blue  flannel  dress  and  a  sailor  hat  ;  and 
Pomp  was  arrayed  in  some  “  clo’es  he  foun’  roun’ 
de  house.”  And  the  carriage  came,  the  man¬ 
sion  was  closed,  and  away  they  went. 

Mr.  Cavello,  returning  at  dusk,  was  dismayed 
at  the  deserted  air  of  the  house,  where  the  win¬ 
dows  had  always  blazed  with  light.  He  rang  the 
bell :  the  handle  came  off,  —  it  came  off  so  easily  ! 
—  and  then  he  pounded,  and  then  he  kicked. 
He  went  to  the  basement  door  ;  but  for  once  the 
curtains  were  down  and  silence  reigned.  A  ser¬ 
vant  near  by,  seeing  his  despair,  told  him  that 
the  family  all  went  off  at  noon,  and  that  the 
black  man  said  they  wouldn’t  be  back  for  a  good 
many  weeks. 


II 6  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


Mr.  Cavello  was  in  a  rage.  He  struck  his 
thin  wisp  of  a  cane  on  the  sidewalk,  until  it 
broke.  He  raved  in  his  native  tongue,  and, 
judging  from  his  manner,  his  language  was  strong 
and  pointed. 

But  he  had  to  go  away  unsatisfied.  He  could 
find  no  “  open  sesame.” 

The  first  week  of  the  St.  Johns’  stay  at  the 
Elden  House  had  passed,  when  Mrs.  St.  John 
wrote  to  Bessie  and  Tom,  inviting  them  to  visit 
her. 

Bessie  did  not  care  to  go  :  she  said  that  she 
was  afraid  of  the  opera  cloak.  Mrs.  Douglas 
remarked  that  she  thought  Tom  would  be  a 
brave  young  man  to  visit  the  St.  Johns,  and 
make  himself  responsible,  as  it  were,  for  them. 
Tom  declared  that  he  was  brave,  and  that  life 
had  been  dull  since  the  opera  cloak  left  town  ; 
and  he  thought  he  would  run  down  Thursday 
night,  and  see  how  it  was  getting  on. 

When  the  coach  drove  up  to  the  hotel  piazza 
that  Thursday,  it  was  about  six  o’clock.  Ladies 
who  had  gentlemen  were  promenading  the  piazza, 
and  ladies  who  expected  them  were  standing 
about  the  door  waiting. 

When  Tom  jumped  out,  he  noticed  at  once 
a  pretty  girl.  It  was  Leslie,  but  so  changed! 
She  had  been  driving,  and  wore  her  blue  flannel 
dress  and  sailor  hat.  The  hat  was  pushed  back, 


THE  COLON  EH  S  OPERA  CLOAK.  1 17 


sailor-fashion,  on  her  head,  and  her  hair  was 
ruffled  by  the  wind.  She  had  wild  flowers  in 
her  hand.  She  came  up,  smiling  and  blushing. 

“  I  am  so  sorry  I  was  late !  I  went  to  drive 
with  Mr.  Merrill,  and  have  only  just  returned. 
I  wanted  to  dress  before  you  came.” 

Tom  took  one  instant  to  hate  Mr.  Merrill,  and 
then  he  wondered  what  celestial  raiment,  what 
purple  and  fine  linen,  could  be  found  to  make 
this  beautiful  being  more  beautiful.  He  could 
not  believe  that  this  was  the  Leslie  who  had 
worn  her  aunt’s  clothes  and  Clarence’s  boots, — 
she  was  so  charming,  so  stylish  !  Well,  if  Tom 
had  come  down  with  even  the  little  pointed  end 
of  his  heart  untouched,  or  one  of  the  scallops  at 
the  top,  it  must  have  given  way  now ! 

Mrs.  St.  John  came  to  meet  him  with  great 
cordiality  ;  and  Arthur  and  Wilfrid  and  Clarence 
said  it  was  “high  old  jolly”  to  see  him  again, 
and,  when  they  heard  of  Mr.  Cavello’s  attempt 
to  get  into  the  house,  they  fairly  jumped  up  and 
down  in  delight. 

Mrs.  St.  John  was  so  handsome,  and  her 
clothes  were  so  elegant,  and  her  niece  was  so 
lovely,  that  the  family  were  very  popular  at  the 
hotel ;  and  Tom  saw,  with  pride  and  fear,  that 
Leslie  was  the  most  attractive  girl  in  the  house. 

There  was  to  be  a  hop  that  evening,  and  Tom 
was  to  come  to  Mrs.  St.  John’s  door  at  eight 


1 1 8  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


o’clock,  to  take  her  and  Leslie  downstairs. 
But  an  old  beau,  of  the  kind  which  belongs  to 
every  summer  hotel,  with  gray  hair  and  pink 
cheeks,  MacVickar  by  name,  came,  with  all  his 
soul  in  his  eyes,  —  his  eyes  were  small,  but  he 
put  all  his  soul  into  them, —  to  beg  the  honor  of 
taking  Mrs.  St.  John  down  ;  and  so  Leslie  was 
left  for  Tom. 

Leslie  had  never  seen  any  thing,  and  had  never 
been  anywhere,  except  for  a  short  time  to  a  third- 
rate  boarding-school ;  and  she  thought  that  now 
she  was  in  Paradise.  She  did  not  have  to  pin 
her  dress-waists  over  ;  her  boots  fitted  her  ;  and 
everybody  was  so  lovely  and  kind  and  beautiful ! 

Mrs.  St.  John  had  let  slip  a  word  about  the  great 
responsibility  of  having  a  young  heiress  and  a 
beauty  on  her  hands  :  fortune-hunters  were  so 
plenty,  and  artists  and  other  fellows  without 
money  took  so  kindly  to  a  rich  and  handsome 
girl,  that  her  aunt  must  of  necessity  lead  a  life  of 
watchfulness,  and  sleep  with  one  eye  open. 

All  this  summer,  life  was  of  rose-color  for  Leslie. 
She  walked,  she  drove,  she  kissed  all  the  babies, 
she  told  stories  to  the  children,  who  pursued  her 
all  over  the  house.  She  was  engaged  days  in 
advance  for  croquet ;  and  the  light-haired,  weak 
little  son  of  the  rich  Mr.  Tileson  begged  for  a 
game  a  week  ahead,  and  asked  her,  from  the  top 
of  the  stage,  to  wear  his  colors  —  a  magenta  rib- 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK .  119 


bon  —  in  her  button-hole  until  he  returned.  The 
handsome  cadet  from  West  Point  wrecked  his 
best  suit  by  cutting  gilt  buttons  from  it  to  string 
upon  little  Tileson’s  red  ribbon  ;  and  Mr.  Bennett, 
who  had  been  crossed  in  love  by  the  young  lady 
who  sat  on  the  rocks  all  day  and  sketched  “  the 
sea,  the  lone,  dark  sea,”  asked  Leslie  to  let  him 
carry  her  fan,  to  make  the  mermaid  jealous  ;  and 
Leslie  was  sorry  for  him,  and  made  the  young 
lady  very  jealous.  The  old  gentlemen  admired 
Leslie :  she  opened  their  papers  for  them  ;  and 
for  the  gouty  old  fellow  who  sat  next  her  at  the 
table  she  saved  the  choice  bits  of  lobster,  and 
made  believe  she  liked  legs  best.  When  Mrs. 
Morris  begged  the  little  Stevenses  not  to  drag 
their  tin  carts  up  and  down  the  piazza  under  her 
windows,  Leslie  promised  them  a  splendid  story 
“that  long,”  if  they’d  stay  on  the  lawn.  She 
seemed  instinctively  to  know  how  to  get  into 
people’s  hearts. 

Old  Mr.  Morris  used  to  laugh  at  the  shells 
and  buttons  she  wore  on  her  ribbon,  and  called 
it  her  scalp-string. 

Would  eight  o’clock  never  come?  Some  peo¬ 
ple  think  hours  measure  alike.  It  is  not  so : 
happy  hours  are  cut  short,  that  weary  ones  may 
be  lengthened. 

Leslie  had  been  ready  for  an  hour.  Pomp  was 
on  his  knees  before  Mrs.  St.  John,  lacing  her 


120  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAIC. 


boots.  She  asked  Leslie  to  peep  out,  and  see  if 
Mr.  MacVickar  was  waiting,  and  to  go  out  if  he 
was.  Leslie  said  no,  but  that  Mr.  Tom  was 
there.  “  Then  go  and  walk  with  him,”  said  Mrs. 
St.  John. 

Leslie  wore  a  white  dotted  muslin,  made  in 
the  simplest  way.  It  was  high  in  the  neck,  with 
a  little  ruche,  and  had  elbow-sleeves  with  ruffles, 
and  a  long,  plain  skirt,  ruffled  around  the  bot¬ 
tom.  Mrs.  St.  John  had  put  on  the  finishing 
touch  by  adding  a  scarlet  crape  sash,  and  put¬ 
ting  a  bit  of  geranium  in  her  hair.  She  wore 
white  slippers  and  long  gloves  ;  and  a  fan  of 
white  feathers  was  tied  to  her  waist  by  a  scar¬ 
let  ribbon. 

Tom  caught  his  breath,  when  this  vision  of 
loveliness  appeared  before  him. 

“  Don’t  I  look  right  smart  ?  ”  said  Leslie. 
“  Isn’t  this  dress  pretty  ?  ” 

“  Why,  I  never  saw  any  thing  like  it  in  my 
life  !  ”  said  the  young  fellow,  forgetting  Gertrude 
Henderson’s  French  dresses,  which  he  had  once 
admired  so  much. 

“  I  don’t  know  as  you  ’ll  go  down  with  me, 
Miss  Leslie.  I  haven’t  a  dress  suit  here.  You 
didn’t  tell  me  there  was  to  be  a  hop  ;  and  I ’m 
no  dancing  man,  any  way,”  added  Tom. 

“  I  don’t  know  how  to  dance,  either,”  said  Les¬ 
lie,  taking  his  offered  arm,  while  they  slowly 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


1 2 1 


promenaded  through  the  long  hall.  “  I  know 
the  ‘  Lancers,’  and  pieces  of  other  dances  ;  but 
I  reckon  I  can  get  through.  Can’t  you  dance 
at  all  ?  ” 

“  I  can  dance  the  ‘  Lancers  ’  or  a  cotillion,” 
said  Tom,  “if  I  am  with  somebody  who  is  good 
to  me,  and  tells  me  in  time  when  I  am  to  make 
a  courtesy,  and  the  dame  to  make  a  bow.” 

“  Oh,  I  know  enough  to  tell  that,”  said  Les¬ 
lie,  “  so  you ’d  better  dance  with  me.  Hark  ! 
they  are  tuning  their  music.  Let ’s  walk  on  the 
piazza.” 

The  night  was  soft  and  clear;  all  the  little 
stars  had  come  out  ;  the  great,  dark  sea  stretched 
far  away ;  and  the  light-house  lantern  flashed 
and  disappeared,  as  Leslie  and  Tom,  arm-in-arm, 
watched  it  from  the  piazza,  where  they  stood 
alone. 

Old  Cannon  Rock  was  booming,  as  the  incom¬ 
ing  tide  rushed  into  its  sounding  caverns.  A 
row-boat  was  moving  through  the  water:  they 
could  hear  soft  voices,  and  see  the  water  fall  in 
golden  rain  from  the  oars. 

44 1  wonder,”  said  Leslie,  leaning  her  head 
against  a  pillar,  “  if  everybody  is  not  perfectly, 
perfectly  happy,  sometimes.” 

“  I  hope  so,  with  all  my  heart,”  said  Tom, 
wondering  whether  his  day  was  coming. 

“  Because,”  continued  Leslie,  “  I  think  people 


122  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK . 


could  bear  to  be  hungry,  and  cold,  and  not  have 
people  care  any  thing  for  them,  and  have  things 
go  wrong  all  the  time,  —  if  they  were  only  per¬ 
fectly  happy  once.  If  it  was  when  they  were 
young,  they  could  say  in  the  horrid  days,  ‘  I  ’ve 
been  happy  once,  and  it  was  good  enough  to  pay 
for  these  times  or,  if  all  their  lives  had  been 
very  hard  and  uncomfortable,  they  could  say, 
when  the  perfectly  happy  days  came,  ‘This  pays 
for  it  all.’  Do  you  believe  it  is  so  ?  ” 

“  I  don’t  know,”  said  Tom.  “  It  seems  as  if 
some  people  never  had  their  day.  Have  you 
ever  been  perfectly  happy  ?  ” 

“  Yes,”  said  Leslie,  hesitatingly  :  “  I  am  almost 
perfectly  happy  to-night.” 

“  What  makes  you  happy  ?  Because  you  are 
going  to  a  dance,  and  there  ’s  to  be  some  fellow 
there  that  you  want  to  see  ?  ” 

“I’d  like  to  murder  him!”  added  Tom,  to 
himself. 

Leslie  didn’t  say  a  word  :  she  only  looked  out 
to  sea. 

“I  beg  your  pardon,”  said  Tom,  coldly.  “I 
had  no  business  to  ask  that.” 

“  Oh,  yes,  you  had,”  said  Leslie’s  soft  voice; 
“and,  if  you  hadn’t,  no  matter.  I  never  mind, 
if  people  are  only  kind  to  me,  what  they  say ; 
and  you  have  been  kinder  to  me  than  almost 
anybody.” 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  1 23 


“  What  good  fortune  for  me,  that  the  Colonel’s 
business  detained  him  over  to-night!”  said  Mr. 
MacVickar’s  thin  voice  to  Mrs.  St.  John,  as 
they  came  upon  the  two  young  people  stand¬ 
ing  in  the  moonlight.  “Old  fool !”  said  Tom, 
in  a  low  tone. 

“  ‘  Or  when  the  moon  was  overhead, 

Came  two  young  lovers  lately  wed,’  ” 

Mr.  MacVickar  added,  waving  his  hand  grace¬ 
fully.  “Ha!  ha!  Not  exactly  appropriate,  but 
we  hope  it  will  be !  And  what  will  the  other 
adorers  say  to  this,  Miss  Leslie,  —  Mr.  Merrill, 
and  Mr.  Tileson,  and  the  host  who  bend  the 
knee  ?  ” 

Tom  could  gladly  have  flung  Mr.  MacVickar 
into  the  sea.  The  two  passed  on. 

“  Well,”  said  Tom,  trying  to  re-establish  the 
conversation,  and  wanting  to  hear  Leslie  repeat 
her  words.  “  I  was  never  kind  to  you.  I  only 
wish  I  could  be.  If  there  was  any  thing  I  could 
do  to  make  you  not  almost,  but  perfectly  ”  — 

They  both  started.  A  man  hung  suspended 
in  the  air  before  them.  Leslie  caught  Tom’s 
hand  in  terror.  He  threw  his  arm  about  her; 
when  a  wicked  giggle  sounded  from  the  piazza 
roof,  and  the  man  began  to  dance  about,  flapping 
his  legs  in  the  air. 

“  Say,  Leslie,  we ’ve  heard  all  you  said,  —  te, 
he,  he,  he,  he  !  and  all  your  beau  said !  ” 


124  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK . 


The  man  flopped  about.  He  was  a  pair  of 
pantaloons,  a  pillow,  a  hat,  and  the  Colonel’s 
opera  cloak ;  and  he  was  suspended  by  the  neck 
by  a  cord,  and  jiggled  according  to  the  fancy  of 
his  creators. 

Leslie  was  ready  to  cry.  Tom  caught  the 
hanging  man,  and  nearly  jerked  the  young,  un¬ 
trammelled  spirits  of  the  chivalry  into  early 
graves  !  They  held  on  to  the  little  railing  above, 
and  howled. 

“You  shut  up,  there!  You  can’t  get  Leslie! 
She ’s  going  to  marry  Mr.  Merrill,  —  so,  there  ! 
Ain’t  you  sweet  on  Leslie,  —  taking  her  to 
ride  and  dumping  her  in  a  mud-puddle  ?  —  te, 
he,  te,  he  !  ” 

The  band  struck  up.  The  dancers  took  their 
places.  Leslie  beat  time  to  the  music  with  her 
foot. 

“  Let  us  go  in  and  look  on,  it  is  so  bright  and 
merry,”  said  she, ^shamed  and  frightened.  “  You 
won’t  mind  what  the  boys  said,  will  you  ?  I  am 
so  sorry  !  They  say  any  thing  when  they  are 
teasing  me.” 

“  I  don’t  mind  any  thing  they  say :  it ’s  only 
what  you  say  that  I  mind,”  replied  Tom. 

“  Come,”  said  the  young  girl,  hurrying  him  on. 
“  I  do  wish  the  boys  wouldn’t  tease  me  so.” 

As  they  stepped  into  the  light,  Tom  saw  tears 
on  her  long  lashes  ;  and  his  manner  softened. 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK.  12 5 


“  Never  mind,”  said  he  :  “  we  don’t  care  what 
they  say.” 

His  tone  comforted  her,  and  she  went  happily 
into  the  hall  on  his  arm. 

Mrs.  St.  John  was  quite  in  her  element.  Mr. 
MacVickar  leaned  over  her  chair  and  fanned  her. 
Mr.  Norton,  who  had  only  arrived  that  night,  had 
begged  to  be  introduced  ;  and  he  now  had  the 
honor  of  holding  her  bouquet.  Mr.  Gray  asked 
why  she  had  been  so  selfish  as  to  find  occupation 
for  only  two  admirers.  Hadn’t  she  another  fan, 
or  couldn’t  the  bouquet  be  divided?  Mrs.  St. 
John  said  she  would  allow  him  to  button  her 
glove  ;  and  his  face  glowed  with  joy  at  her  con¬ 
descension. 

Tom  made  so  many  mistakes  in  the  “  Lan 
cers  ”  that  Leslie  could  not  keep  him  in  order. 
She  tried  to  dance  a  cotillion  with  the  “  defender 
of  his  qountry,”  as  Mr.  MacVickar  styled  the 
handsome  little  innocent  from  West  Point ;  but 
she  laughed  so  often  at  her  own  mistakes,  that  her 
partner  became  a  little  vexed,  and  thought  that 
she  was  laughing  at  him.  What  in  creation  had 
her  family  been  thinking  of,  not  to  teach  her  to 
dance !  fie  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  such 
ignorance  in  a  civilized  and  Christian  country, 
and  wished  he  had  his  shiny  buttons  back. 

Mrs.  Morris,  who  peeped  in  through  the  win¬ 
dows  from  the  piazza,  wondered  how  it  happened 


126  THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK . 


that  the  people  all  looked  like  the  very  ones  she 
had  seen,  season  after  season,  at  hotel  hops. 
There  were  the  weary  old  ladies,  who  hid  their 
yawns  behind  their  fans,  and  who  only  served  as 
stations  to  run  the  young  ladies  back  to.  They 
looked  so  much  alike,  that  Miss  Annie  or  Miss 
Fannie  had  to  say,  as  her  escort  confidently  took 
her  to  the  wrong  old  lady,  “  Oh,  no,  this  one  is  not 
my  mamma !  ” 

The  music  was  fine  ;  and,  as  Tom  and  Leslie 
had  come  to  grief  in  their  dancing,  they  went 
again  to  the  piazza,  passing  on  their  way  Mr. 
MacVickar,  who  said,  — 

“  What !  going  to  add  two  other  stars  to 

night  ?  ” 

“  A  hop  isn’t  as  nice  as  I  thought  it  would  be,” 
said  Leslie,  wrapped  up  in  somebody’s  shawl, 
which  Tom  had  pilfered  on  his  way  out.  “  If  it 
really  meant  its  name,  I ’d  like  it.  I  like  to  laugh 
when  I  dance,  and  to  feel  that  I  am  having  a 
good  time.  All  those  people  looked  so  solemn, 
and  as  if  they  were  to  blame.  It  made  me  laugh 
to  see  them.” 

“There  is  only  one  thing  that  is  nice  about  a 
hop,  to  me,”  said  Tom  ;  “and  that  is  to  walk  on 
the  piazza  in  the  moonlight,  with  the  music  and 
the  sound  of  the  sea  in  my  ears,  and  a  pretty 
girl  who  ”  — 

“  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Leslie !  ”  said  Mrs. 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  1 27 


Morris  from  the  shadow.  “Are  you  enjoying  the 
hop  ?  I  must  thank  you  for  rescuing  me  to-day 
from  those  little  Stevenses.  When  I  have  a 
headache,  their  shrill  voices  scalp  me.  And 
those  tin  carts  !  They  are  instructed  to  trundle 
them  under  my  window,  I ’m  convinced.  Why 
do  they  never  play  under  their  mother’s  ?  ” 

Leslie  laughed,  and  introduced  Tom  to  the 
lady  ;  and  then  Mr.  Tileson  came,  pale  and  timid, 
to  remind  Miss  Leslie  that  she  had  promised  to 
promenade  with  him,  as  she  didn’t  waltz. 

Tom  wanted  to  slap  the  little  fellow  between 
his  hands,  like  a  mosquito.  It  didn’t  seem  like 
murder  to  kill  any  thing  so  thin. 

The  supper  hall  was  bright  with  flags.  To 
Leslie’s  fresh  eyes,  it  was  like  a  scene  in  the 
“Arabian  Nights.”  With  her,  it  was  the  Thou¬ 
sand  and  One  Nights  all  in  one  ;  for  Tom  had 
walked  boldly  up  to  little  Mr.  Tileson,  and  offered 
Leslie  his  arm  as  if  she  belonged  to  him,  and  Les¬ 
lie  had  taken  it  as  if  she  did.  Mr.  Tileson  had 
let  her  go,  smiling  feebly,  and  then  wondered 
why  he  had  let  her  go. 

Tom  was  splendid.  He  found  just  the  things 
Leslie  liked,  and  sent  a  waiter  with  them  to  the 
piazza,  where  they  had  “another  little  tea-party.” 
Leslie  said  this  was  “just  for  twice  and  what 
a  queer,  lovely,  funny,  dreadful  time  that  other 
tea-party  in  the  country  was  !  and  now,  with  her 


128  THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK . 


pretty  clothes,  she  felt  like  a  girl  in  a  story,  and 
he  was  like  a  gentleman  in  a  story. 

“  The  hero  and  heroine  ?  ”  asked  Tom. 

Leslie  laughed,  and  said,  “No:  there  is  an 
elegant  young  lady  whose  initials  are  ‘G.  H.,’ 
who  is  the  heroine.” 

“  And  a  man,  called  Tileson,  is  the  hero  for 
the  other  lady,  perhaps,”  said  Tom. 

Leslie  said  that  if  he  were  to  belong  to  her, 
she  would  put  a  dress  and  bonnet  on  him,  and 
call  him  Miss  Tileson. 

“  I ’m  tired,  Leslie,”  said  little  Clarence,  run¬ 
ning  up  to  her,  and  laying  his  head  on  her 
shoulder.  “  Won’t  you  take  me  to  bed  ?  I ’m 
afraid,  in  this  big  house,  and  I  can’t  keep  awake 
any  longer.” 

“  Where  is  Pomp  ?  ”  asked  Tom.  “  He  ’ll  put 
you  to  bed.” 

“  I  want  Leslie,”  said  Clarence,  defiantly. 

Leslie  arose. 

“  I  ’ll  put  him  to  bed,  and  then  come  back,” 
she  said.  But  it  was  a  long  time  before  she 
came,  for  Clarence  wanted  a  song  and  a  story ; 
and  then  it  was  time  for  Mrs.  St.  John  to  be 
tired,  and  so  Leslie  had  to  go  with  her,  of 
course. 

“  Don’t  sing  any  of  your  songs  to  these  fellows 
here,”  said  Tom,  in  a  low  tone,  as  he  bade  her 
good-night,  nodding  over  his  shoulder  into  the 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  1 29 


ball-room.  “Save  them  for  another  ‘just  for 
this  time,’  won’t  you  ?  ” 

“  Yes,”  said  Leslie.  And  then  she  gave  him 
her  little  hand,  and  said,  “  Good-night ;  ”  and  Tom 
saw  her  white  dress  sweep  up  the  stairs. 

He  decided  that  he  was  tired  enough  to  go  in 
now. 

It  is  surprising  how  the  music  clashes,  how 
the  lights  grow  dim  and  the  people  stupid, 
the  minute  “  the  only  girl  in  the  world  ”  is  taken 
away  by  her  hard-hearted  chaperone. 

But  there  was  a  morning  coming. 


130  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK . 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

HE  next  morning  Mrs.  St.  John  told  Pomp 


to  keep  the  boys  away  from  Leslie  and 
Tom  ;  but  the  poor  old  fellow  had  his  hands 
more  than  full  to  obey  her  orders. 

Wilfrid  and  Clarence  viewed  Tom  with  that 
intense  admiration  which  boys  so  often  feel  for 
a  “  grown-up  fellow  ;  ”  and  Arthur  looked  on  him 
tenderly  as  Bessie’s  prother,  and  amused  Mr. 
Morris  by  saying  that  he  knew  how  Tom  felt, — 
he  had  been  there  himself. 

Leslie  and  Tom  sat  on  the  breezy  side  of  the 
broad  piazza,  away  from  the  group  of  ladies  who 
had  their  fancy-work  out  and  were  listening  to 
Mrs.  Stevens  as  she  read  aloud. 

“  I  am  afraid  I  am  very  lazy,”  said  Leslie,  look¬ 
ing  at  her  idle  hands ;  “but  I  don’t  seem  to  care 
for  fancy-work,  and  I  have  no  real  work  to  do. 
Pomp  does  the  mending.” 

“There ’s  a  great  deal  of  nonsense  about  fan¬ 
cy-work,”  said  Tom.  “  I  think  it  is  far  more 
sensible  to  sit  still  and  do  nothing,  than  to  play 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  131 


at  work  in  that  way.  Gertrude  Henderson  bears 
off  the  palm  for  that  sort  of  thing.  I  ’m  glad 
Bessie  never  took  to  it.  You  are  the  kind  of 
girl  that  would  take  hold  of  real  work,  and  do  it 
well,  if  you  needed  to.  Any  thing  you  were 
interested  in,  and  thought  you  ought  to  do,  you 
would  do.” 

“Would  I?”  said  Leslie,  very  much  pleased 
with  Tom’s  discovery.  “  Oh,  I  ’d  rather  have  you 
say  that  than  any  thing!  I’d  like  to  be  just 
like  Bessie.  She  makes  such  lovely  cake  and 
jelly  ;  and  she  trims  her  own  bonnets;  and  then 
she  can  play  on  the  piano  and  speak  French, 
besides.  The  only  thing  I  can  do  is  hoe-cake,” 
she  added.  “  I ’ve  seen  Pomp  make  that  times 
enough  to  know  how.  But  I  can  only  play  on 
the” —  She  stopped  and  blushed. 

“  On  what  ?  ”  asked  Tom,  smiling.  “  On  a 
jewsharp,  or  an  accordion  ?  Out  with  it,  Miss 
Leslie.” 

“  On  something  worse,”  she  replied.  “  But  I 
don’t  want  to  let  you  know :  you  ’ll  think  it 
so  unlady-like.” 

“You  couldn’t  do  any  thing  unlady-like,”  said 
Tom,  looking  into  her  eyes. 

“  Well,  then,”  said  Leslie,  “  I  sing  negro  songs 
with  the  banjo.” 

Tom  burst  out  laughing. 

“Is  that  all?”  he  asked.  “You  must  bring 


132  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


your  banjo  out,  when  we  go  back  to  town,  and 
sing  for  me.  Why,  I ’d  rather  have  my  —  I ’d 
rather  hear  you  sing  with  a  banjo  than  any  thing 
I  can  think  of  in  the  way  of  music.” 

“  Oh,  would  you  ?  ”  said  Leslie,  much  relieved. 
“  I  thought  you  would  think  it  was  dreadful. 
I  will  sing  for  you  as  much  as  you  like.  I  know 
heaps  of  songs.” 

Clarence  appeared  at  this  moment,  dragging  a 
chair  after  him,  and  stationed  himself  in  front  of 
them,  saying  nothing,  but  gazing  earnestly  into 
their  faces.  He  fairly  stretched  his  eyes  open 
so  as  not  to  wink,  for  fear  of  losing  something. 

From  a  conversation  he  had  heard  between  his 
mother  and  Pomp,  he  had  gathered  that  some¬ 
thing  remarkable  was  to  happen  that  morning, 
and  he  meant  to  be  “in  at  the  death.” 

Just  now  Pomp  peeped  round  the  corner  of 
the  piazza. 

“  Massa  Clar’nce,”  he  called,  in  a  loud  whisper, 
“  I  wants  to  speak  to  yer.” 

“You  don’t  neither,”  said  Clarence.  “You 
want  to  get  me  in,  and  I  shan’t  go.” 

“  I  ’se  got  some  cake  fur  yer.” 

“I  don’t  want  your  old  cake!  You  needn’t 
roll  your  old  eyes  round  at  me !  I  ain’t  doing 
any  thing,  am  I,  Leslie?  You  think  Leslie  don’t 
want  me  to  hear  her  talk  with  Mr.  Douglas. 
They  ain’t  talking  about  any  thing  but  music, 
are  you,  Leslie  ?  ” 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  1 33 


Poor  Leslie  !  She  did  not  know  what  to  say. 

“  Clarence,  come  here.  I  want  to  speak  to 
you/’  called  his  mother. 

“  I  ain’t  doing  any  thing  to  them,”  he  replied, 
in  a  fretful  voice. 

The  ladies  at  the  other  end  of  the  piazza  ex¬ 
changed  glances,  and  smiled. 

“  Clarence,  come  to  me  this  moment !  ”  Mrs. 
St.  John’s  voice  was  getting  a  little  shrill. 

Clarence  rose,  dragging  his  feet  heavily  after 
him,  and  pouting. 

“  I  can’t  hear  a  word  they  say,  —  not  a  single 
word,”  he  whimpered.  “  He  didn’t  come  down 
just  to  see  Leslie,  I  ’ll  bet :  did  you,  Mr.  Doug¬ 
las  ?  ” 

“  No,  I  came  to  see  you,”  said  Tom  ;  “  and,  it 
you  had  stayed  on  that  chair  a  little  longer,  I 
should  have  been  able  to  see  a  good  deal  of  you. 
Come  here,  I  want  to  speak  to  you.” 

Tom’s  whispered  communication  had  the  de¬ 
sired  effect,  for  Clarence  soon  disappeared  in  the 
bowling-alley. 

The  little  boy  whom  he  paid,  with  unusual 
liberality,  for  setting  up  the  pins,  asked  him  if 
that  “  city  swell  ”  was  his  uncle. 

Clarence  said  no,  but  he  guessed  he  would  be, 
pretty  soon,  when  he  married  Leslie. 

“  He  ’ll  be  your  cousin,  then,”  said  the  boy. 

“  He  won’t  either,”  replied  Clarence  :  “  he ’s 


134  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK . 


too  old  to  be  my  cousin,  I  tell  you.  Leslie  ’s  my 
cousin.” 

Soon  Tom  and  Leslie  set  out  for  a  walk. 

“  Mr.  Douglas  !  ”  Clarence  called  out.  “  What 
kind  of  a  walk  are  you  going  on,  —  a  long  one  or 
a  short  one  ?  ” 

“  Oh,  a  very  long  one,”  said  Tom,  in  a  tone  of 
discouragement. 

“  Then  I  ’ll  go  with  you,”  said  Clarence,  cheer¬ 
fully.  “That’s  just  the  kind  of  a  walk  I  want 
to  take.” 

“Hallo!  Massa  Clar’nce,”  cried  Pomp.  “Yer 
ma  says  how  she  wants  yer.  She ’s  got  suthin’ 
fur  yer.” 

Clarence  was  becoming  wrathful  under  this 
constant  surveillance,  to  which  he  was  not  accus¬ 
tomed.  He  aimed  a  stone  at  Pomp,  who  beat 
a  hastv  retreat. 

j 

At  this  moment,  Wilfrid,  who  was  driving  with 
a  stable-boy,  saw  the  party,  jumped  out  of  the 
carriage,  and  joined  them. 

“  Clarence,  come  along  !  ”  he  whispered.  “  I 
want  to  tell  you  something.  Say,  we  ’ll  make 
fun  of  them.” 

Tom  had  put  Leslie’s  hand  through  his  arm, 
and  now  Wilfrid  offered  his  arm  to  Clarence. 
He  leaned  toward  him,  he  whispered  to  him,  and 
finally  Tom  and  Leslie  were  startled  by  a  series 
of  loud  kisses  behind  them. 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  1 35 


They  turned  in  time  to  see  the  little  rascals 
“  taking  them  off.” 

Tom  was  angry,  but  he  couldn’t  help  laughing. 
Wilfrid  was  looking  very  stern,  and  Clarence 
was  mincing  his  steps,  “lady-fashion,”  and  had 
his  mouth  pursed  up:  “like  Leslie’s,”  he  said. 

Poor  Leslie  was  almost  crying. 

“Don’t  mind  the  boys,”  said  Tom.  “What 
do  we  care  for  their  nonsense  ?  ” 

After  this  there  were  no  butterflies  to  chase, 
no  birds  to  stone.  The  boys  walked  beside  the 
two  young  people,  paying  strict  attention  to 
every  word. 

Tom  thought  the  Evil  One  had  engaged  their 
services  for  that  morning. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  there  was  to  be  a  sail¬ 
ing-party. 

They  all  went  down  to  the  wharf,  and  stood 
about,  waiting  while  Uncle  Peter  was  hoisting 
his  sail. 

Leslie  knew  Uncle  Peter.  He  lived  in  a 
neighboring  fishing  village,  with  his  daughter-in- 
law,  Lany.  His  business  in  summer  was  to  take 
the  hotel  people  out  on  the  water  in  his  boat, 
which  he  called  the  “  Mary  Adny,”  after  a  boat 
he  had  heard  of  which  “beat”  in  a  Fourth  of 
July  race  “  down  to  New  Bedford.” 

Leslie  was  a  great  favorite  of  his.  She  was 


136  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK . 


never  sea-sick,  and  she  never  screamed  in  the 
boat. 

Mr.  MacVickar  was  the  general  escort.  Little 
Mr.  Tileson  flirted  with  Miss  Wilder,  to  make 
Leslie  jealous  ;  but  he  only  made  her  grateful. 

Tom  had  provided  money  for  Wilfrid  and 
Clarence  to  go  to  the  village  for  fishing-rods  and 
lines,  and  had  thus  procured  a  quiet  afternoon 
for  himself,  and  frustrated  the  plans  of  the  arch¬ 
enemy. 

Miss  Wilder  wore  a  white  veil,  which  reached 
to  her  nose,  white  gloves,  a  blue  flannel  dress 
trimmed  with  broad  white  braid,  —  that  was  the 
sailor  part  of  the  costume,  —  and  carried  a  para¬ 
sol  lined  with  pink.  She  held  a  larger  veil,  in 
which  to  entwine  her  head  when  she  should 
fairly  have  set  sail,  lest  a  sunbeam  or  a  breeze 
should  strike  her  too  roughly. 

Leslie’s  sailor  hat  was  pushed  off  from  her 
face:  it  was  certainly  very  little  protection  to 
her. 

“  Why  don’t  you  follow  that  young  lady’s 
example,”  asked  Tom,  in  an  undertone,  “and 
wear  a  veil,  to  save  your  complexion  ?  ” 

“  Oh,  I  love  to  feel  the  wind,”  replied  Leslie. 
“  I  can’t  breathe  with  a  veil  on.  I  only  get 
a  little  darker :  that  doesn’t  matter.  Miss 
Wilder  is  a  grand  young  lady, — she’s  a  belle, 
they  say,  —  and  I  am  —  only  Leslie.” 


THE  CO  LONE  HS  OP  EE  A  CLOAK.  1 37 


She  said  this  so  sweetly,  that  Tom  wanted  to 
embrace  her  on  the  spot,  though  the  assembled 
world  should  behold  ;  but  he  was  prevented  by 
an  armful  of  shawls  and  parasols,  not  to  mention 
the  opera  cloak,  which  Pomp  at  the  last  moment 
had  slyly  intrusted  to  his  charge,  “  so  as  Miss 
Leslie  won’t  cotch  no  cold  when  de  night- 
damps  comes  along  ;  ”  and,  besides,  Leslie  had 
already  jumped  aboard. 

The  boat  was  rather  crowded.  So,  after  they 
had  pushed  off,  Leslie  and  Tom  went  up  before 
the  mast,  where  there  was  just  room  for  two  to 
stand. 

The  air  was  sweet ;  there  was  a  fresh  breeze. 
The  “  Mary  Adny  ”  flew  along  as  well  as  if  her 
name  had  been  spelled  right.  The  little  reefing- 
lines,  striking  on  the  sail,  made  a  sound  like 
light  rain.  The  pennant  fluttered. 

Where  were  care  and  trouble  !  Not  a  cloud 
was  in  the  sky.  It  was  a  summer  sea. 

“  Play  there  is  no  one  here,  and  sing  that 
little  sea  song,”  said  Tom, —  “  the  first  one  I 
ever  heard  you  sing.  What  a  dear  little  song 
that  is!  This  is  just  the  place  for  it.” 

“  ‘  There  was  a  little  white  cloud  in  the  sky/  ** 

sang  Leslie. 

Instantly  there  was  quiet  in  the  party. 

“  Why,  what  a  lovely  song  that  is,  Miss  Les- 


138  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


]ie  !  ”  cried  Mr.  MacVickar,  when  she  had  finished 
it,  clapping  with  one  of  his  forefingers  upon  the 
other.  “  Why  have  we  never  heard  that  siren 
voice  before  ?  ” 

“  You  could  hear  it  any  time,”  said  Leslie,  “  if 
you  listened  at  the  door  when  I  put  Clarence  to 
bed.  I  sing  to  him  every  night.” 

“  And  why  waste  on  that  small  boy  what  some 
larger  boys  would  purchase  dearly  ?  ” 

Leslie  laughed. 

“O  Miss  Wilder,”  she  said  to  the  young  lady 
with  the  pink  parasol,  “  do  sing !  I  heard  you 
one  night  in  the  parlor,  when  you  did  not  know 
I  was  listening.” 

“  Oh,  do  !  ”  they  all  urged. 

But  Miss  Wilder  could  not  be  persuaded. 

“  Oh,  I  never  sing  before  strangers,”  she  said. 
“  I  sometimes  warble  a  few  wild  notes  for  Papa. 
That  is  all.” 

Then  they  begged  Leslie  to  go  on. 

She  sang  several  songs,  until  Tom  said  she 
would  injure  her  voice  in  the  open  air. 

“  Leslie,”  whispered  Mrs.  Morris,  “  stir  Uncle 
Peter  up.  Make  him  talk.” 

Very  little  “stirring”  brought  him  to  the  sur¬ 
face. 

“Wasn’t  it  hot  this  morning,  Uncle  Peter!” 
said  Leslie,  turning  around  to  him. 

“  Wal,”  said  he,  “  it  wa’ri  t  what  I  call  hot.  Ef 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK .  1 39 


yer’d  ben  in  the  ten  id  zone,  when  yer  felt  as  ef 
yer  was  in  a  biler  o’  hot  water  all  day,  yer ’d 
know  what  hot  was. 

“  Folks  is  more  contr’y  on  weather  ’n  on  any 
thin’  else.  When  it ’s  hot,  they  want  it  cold ; 
an’  when  it ’s  cold,  they  want  it  hot.  I  s’pose 
they’d  like  it  lewkwarm  all  the  time.” 

“  What  do  you  call  cold  weather,  Uncle  Peter  ?  ” 
asked  Tom. 

“  I  call  cold  weather  when  yer  wear  a  coat  o’ 
ice  all  over  yer,  every  one  o’  the  hairs  on  yer 
head ’s  an  eyecicle,  an’  ye  ’r  sort  o’  cased  in  ice.” 

“  Where  in  the  world  did  you  get  covered  in  that 
way  ?  In  the  North  Sea  ?  ”  asked  Mrs.  Morris. 

“  No,  marm.  It  was  down  to  Nantucket, 
when  I  was  a  young  feller.  I  went  out  to  help 
git  men  off  a  sinkin’  ship,  an’  that ’s  the  way  I 
looked  when  I  got  home.  I  looked  putty  queer, 
the  wimmin-folks  said.” 

“  Did  you  save  the  men  ?  ” 

“  Yes.” 

“  How  many  ?  ” 

“  Eight.” 

“  How  many  men  went  with  you,  Uncle 
Peter  ?  ” 

“  Two,  —  my  father  an’  my  brother.” 

“  Wasn’t  it  dangerous  ?  ” 

“  Yes.” 

“  And  you  saved  the  lives  of  eight  men  !  It 


140  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


was  a  shame  the  Humane  Society  didn’t  give  you 
a  medal.” 

“  They  did  !  Bob  yer  heads,  —  bob  yer  heads, 
—  the  sail ’s  goin’  over,”  said  Uncle  Peter. 

It  was  a  fine  place  where  Leslie  stood  with 
Tom.  They  did  not  have  to  notice  the  sail,  and 
it  seemed  as  if  they  two,  standing  side  by  side, 
impelled  the  boat  forward,  and  were  going  on 
and  on,  up  the  shining  track,  into  a  land  of 
sunshine. 

“  Oh,”  said  Leslie,  taking  a  long  breath,  “  I 
should  like  to  be  a  sailor.  Shouldn’t  I  make  a 
good  sailor,  Uncle  Peter  ?  ” 

“  Oh,  splendid !  ”  said  he,  with  a  scornful 
laugh.  “  Yer  wouldn’t  want  to  go  more  ’n  one 
crewse,  I  cal’late.  How  long  would  yer  stick  it 
out  on  a  wrack  !  How  would  yer  like  gittin’ 
soaked  through,  for  one  thing  ?  ” 

“  Oh,  I  don’t  mind  that  !  I ’ve  tried  it,” 
said  Leslie,  looking  at  Tom,  and  laughing. 

“  She  wouldn’t  make  no  kind  of  a  fisherman, 
anyhow,”  said  Uncle  Peter,  addressing  the  com¬ 
pany.  “  The  day  she  went  blew-fishin’,  she 
a’most  cried  ’cause  I  hedn’t  a  hetchet  to  cut  off 

f 

the  fishes’  heads  ’fore  I  pitched  ’em  into  the 
berril.  She’s  drefful  tender-hearted.  She  couldn’t 
never  put  no  bait  on.” 

“  I  could  bait  for  frogs,”  said  Leslie,  laughing, 
“  because  they  use  red  flannel  for  that.” 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  141 


“Sho!”  said  Uncle  Peter.  “That  ain’t  so! 
I  never  heered  on  to  it.” 

“  I  think  the  very  wickedest  and  meanest 
thing  I  ever  heard,”  said  Leslie,  earnestly,  “  is 
the  way  they  shoot  gulls.  They  have  a  boat 
sunk  close  down  to  the  water’s  edge,  near  the 
shore,  and  they  put  branches  all  around  it  to 
make  it  look  like  the  ground  ;  and  then  they 
wave  a  white  handkerchief  to  the  poor  birds, 
who  think  it  is  a  friend  that  wants  to  speak  to 
them,  and  they  come  hurrying  down  out  of  the 
sky,  and,  just  as  they  get  near,  the  great  horrid 
man  jumps  up  out  of  his  hiding-place  and  shoots 
the  poor  things.” 

“  I  wonder  if  ‘  gulling  ’  people  come  from 
that?”  asked  Mrs.  Morris. 

“  Undoubtedly  it  comes  from  something,”  said 
Mr.  MacVickar,  “and  why  not  from  that  ?  ” 

“  Now  we  are  going  to  run  through  the  nar¬ 
rows  into  a  bay,”  said  Leslie,  “  and  up  to  an  old 
wharf.  Such  a  funny  place  !  Did  you  ever  eat 
ice-cream  on  the  roof  of  a  house,  Mr.  Douglas  ?  ” 

“  No,”  said  Tom.  “But  I’ve  eaten  it  on  the 
floor  of  a  house.” 

“  Of  course  you  have  ;  but  that  is  a  very  differ¬ 
ent  thing  from  the  roof,  under  an  awning,  look¬ 
ing  off,  far,  far  off  to  sea.” 

Soon  the  party  landed,  and  went  merrily  up 
the  rocks  to  a  little  saloon.  The  ladies  insisted 


142  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


on  taking  their  shawls  and  wraps  from  the  boat, 
for  fear  they  might  be  stolen  if  the  old  man 
should  go  ashore. 

Uncle  Peter  sniffed  with  scorn. 

“  Mebbe  this  wharf  or  the  fish-houses  ’ll  walk 
out  and  kerry  ’em  off,”  said  he,  with  awful  sar¬ 
casm.  “  I ’d  better  set  here  an’  watch  ’em, 
hedn’t  I  ?  ” 

“  Uncle  Peter  doesn’t  like  that,”  whispered 
I.eslie  to  Tom.  “  He  lives  in  this  village. 
That ’s  his  house  over  there,  and  all  the  people 
are  his  relations,  and  such  nice  people !  No  one 
ever  steals.  Why,  I  ’ll  leave  all  my  things  in 
the  boat,  and  I  shall  feel  safe  if  Uncle  Peter  does 
go  away  from  it.” 

They  had  now  reached  the  saloon. 

“  Oh !  ”  said  Mr.  MacVickar,  while  the  man 
was  dusting  the  tables,  and  bringing  on  very 
yellow  and  very  pink  ice-creams ;  “  I  always 

think,  when  looking  on  the  sea,  — 

‘Roll  on,  thou  deep  and  dark  blue  ocean,  —  roll  ! 

Ten  thousand  fleets  sweep  over  thee  in  vain,’  ” 

and  he  waved  his  hand  toward  Uncle  Peter’s 
boat; 

“  ‘  Man  marks  the  earth  with  ruin  —  his  control  ’  ”  — 

here  he  turned  toward  the  saloon  :  — 

“  ‘  his  control  — 

Man  marks  the  earth  with  ruin  —  his  control’  ”  — 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  143 


“  Stops  with  the  shore,”  said  Tom,  patching 
out  the  verse. 

“Yes,”  said  Mr.  MacVickar;  “and  very  true 
it  is,  —  beautifully  true  !  ” 

Leslie  was  so  proud  that  Tom  could  help  him 
out.  What  hadn’t  he  read  ! 

The  “  ice-cream  man,”  as  Mr.  Tileson  called 
him,  brought  a  plate  of  fresh  doughnuts  covered 
with  powdered  sugar. 

“  What  an  odd  thing  to  eat  with  ice-cream  !  ” 
said  Miss  Wilder,  taking  a  third  one,  and  dust¬ 
ing  the  sugar  from  her  dress. 

“  A  wisp-broom  ought  to  go  with  each  one  of 
these  cakes,”  said  little  Tileson. 

They  laughed,  for  they  were  all  brushing 
away  at  their  clothes. 

“  Pretty  good,  Mr.  Tileson,”  said  Mr.  Mac¬ 
Vickar,  —  “  very  good  indeed,  sir  !  ” 

Mr.  Tileson  thought  at  once  that  he  would 
have  the  cook  at  home  make  some  cakes  of  this 
kind  the  next  time  they  had  company,  and  that 
he  would  get  off  that  bright  joke  again. 

Tom  looked  at  his  watch. 

“  1  think  we  ’ll  have  to  leave  now,  if  I  am  to 
catch  my  train,”  said  he.  “  I  might  get  Uncle 
Peter  to  run  me  up,  and  let  him  come  back  for 
you.” 

“  Oh,  no  :  we  are  ready,”  they  all  said. 

“  Why  must  you  go  to-night  ?  ”  asked  Mr.  Mac¬ 
Vickar. 


144  THE  COLONEL’S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


“  I  have  an  engagement  in  town,”  said  Tom. 

“You  are  a  man  of  engagements,”  said  Mr. 
MacVickar,  pointing  his  remark  by  a  very  quiz¬ 
zical  face. 

“  Fool !  ”  said  Tom  to  himself,  as  he  returned 
the  look  without  one  gleam  of  intelligence. 

Leslie  had  a  little  pitcher  in  her  hand,  when 
she  came  out  of  the  saloon. 

“What  in  the  earth  is  that?”  asked  Tom, 
taking  the  pitcher  from  her.  “Are  you  going 
to  carry  this  to  your  aunt  ?  It  will  melt  before 
you  are  half  there.” 

“  Oh,  no,”  said  Leslie.  “  It  is  for  Uncle  Peter. 
I  think  he  feels  sort  of  lonely  in  the  boat,  all  by 
himself.” 

“  You  are  a  dear,  good  girl,”  said  Tom.  “  You 
are  always  thinking  of  other  people  I  wish  I 
was  Uncle  Peter.” 

“  Oh,  you  needn’t  wish  that,”  said  Leslie,  shy¬ 
ly.  “  I  ’ll  buy  you  some  ice-cream,  sometime,  if 
you  care  so  much  for  it.  Will  you  have  pink  or 
yellow  ;  and  will  you  eat  it  from  a  pitcher  ?  ” 

“I  believe  you  are  a  little  wicked,”  said 
Tom:  “just  enough  to  keep  you  from  flying 
away.” 

“  That  sounds  like  Mr.  MacVickar,”  said  Les¬ 
lie.  “  He  is  always  expecting  ladies  to  spread 
their  wings,  —  even  Mrs.  Stevens,  who  would 
need  very  strong  ones  ;  and  we  always  rival  the 
stars  ;  and  he  says  something  about  — 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  145 


‘O  woman  !  in  our  hours  of  ease.’  ” 

Tom  thought  of  the  next  line,  —  how  it  fitted 
Mrs.  St.  John  ;  and  then  of  himself,  with  a  ter¬ 
rible  headache,  and  Leslie’s  soft  hands  on  his 
head. 

“Wal,”  said  Uncle  Peter,  catching  sight  of 
the  ice-cream  ;  “  hain’t  yer  hed  enough,  but  yer 
must  fetch  a  pitcher-full  aboard  ?  ” 

“That’s  for  you,”  said  Leslie.  “You  might 
have  gone  up  for  some  just  as  well  as  not.  No¬ 
body  would  have  hurt  your  boat.” 

The  rest  had  now  come  up. 

“No,”  said  Uncle  Peter,  still  displeased  about 
the  suspicions  of  theft.  “  One  lady  left  her  rub¬ 
ber,  an’  o’  course  I  didn’t  darst  to  quit  while 
that  was  here  :  it  might  hev  ben  stole.  I  see 
Deacon  Soule  sort  o’  spyin’  round.” 

Mrs.  Morris  and  Leslie  laughed  heartily.  They 
knew  Deacon  Soule  by  sight,  —  a  very  solemn- 
looking  man,  his  hair  all  brushed  up  to  the  top 
of  his  head,  and  braided  in  a  flat  little  braid, 
which  looked  as  if  some  one  had  got  inside  of 
his  head  to  arrange  it. 

Uncle  Peter  ate  the  ice-cream  with  a  relish, 
and  then  set  the  pitcher  and  spoon  on  the  wharf, 
where  the  owner  was  to  find  them,  —  “  Ef  Dea¬ 
con  Soule  don’t  ketch  sight  on  ’em  fust,”  said 
Uncle  Peter,  grimly,  as  he  pushed  off. 

They  did  not  notice  that  the  precious  opera 


io 


146  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


cloak  had  fallen  from  the  gunwale,  where 
Leslie  had  left  it,  and  drifted  to  the  shore, 
near  by. 

The  sun  was  low.  The  sky  was  one  glow  of 
gold  and  rose  color,  —  a  burning  rose,  that  glo¬ 
rified  the  sky  and  water,  and  lent  a  rich  tint 
to  the  trees,  whose  heavy  reflection  trembled 
below. 

“  ‘  Where  the  reflections,  clear  and  strong, 

Fall  like  an  echo  to  a  song,’  ” 

said  Mrs.  Morris. 

Leslie  wished  she  could  quote.  She  meant  to 
read,  and  learn  things  by  heart,  so  as  to  be  able 
to  do  it.  Everybody  else  could  quote  ;  and  she 
felt  quite  ashamed. 

Quiet  fell  upon  the  little  party.  The  lapping 
of  the  water  on  the  side  of  the  boat  was  pleasant 
to  the  ear. 

Tom  trembled  lest  some  one  should  suggest 
“Good-night,  ladies!”  or  “  Soft  o’er  the  foun¬ 
tain.” 

Mr.  Tileson  and  Miss  Wilder  stood  for  the 
figure-heads,  this  time.  Leslie  and  Tom  sat 
in  the  stern. 

“  Oh  !  ”  cried  Leslie.  -  “  Look  at  the  little  vil¬ 
lage.  It  is  all  gold  !  ” 

A  star  burned  on  the  steeple  of  the  church, 
and  the  village  windows  were  aglow  with 
the  setting  sun.  The  houses  were  dark  against 


TiLE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK.  1 4  7 


the  yellow  light.  The  little  town  was  trans¬ 
figured. 

Leslie  sighed  with  delight. 

Suddenly  she  put  her  hand  on  Uncle  Peter’s, 
as  he  held  the  tiller. 

“  Stop  !  ”  she  cried.  “  See !  Wait !  There ’s 
a  man  in  the  water  !  ” 

They  all  started  to  their  feet. 

“  I  don’t  see  none,”  said  Uncle  Peter,  looking 
back.  “  Wher  is  he  ?  I  guess  he ’d  holler,  ’f 
he  wanted  help.” 

“Maybe  he  can’t,”  said  Leslie. 

“  Where  is  he  ?  Where  is  he  ?  ”  they  asked, 
all  at  once. 

“  Why,  there  !  ”  Leslie  pointed.  “  In  the  little 
cove,  where  we  ran  in.  See !  he  is  trying  to  pull 
himself  up  by  some  bushes.  I  can  see  his  arms 
move.” 

“  Perhaps  it ’s  Deacon  Soule,  after  the  spoon,” 
said  Tom. 

Leslie  looked  reproachfully  at  him.  There 
were  tears  in  her  eyes. 

Uncle  Peter  wanted  to  get  home  to  supper. 

“  I  ’ll  holler,”  said  he.  “  An’  ef  he  don’t  holler 
back,  I  think  he  oughter  be  drownded.” 

Uncle  Peter  put  his  hand  to  his  mouth,  and 
called,  — 

“  Hallo  !  Who  be  yer  ?  Hallo  !  ” 

No  answer. 


143  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


Tom  was  in  a  great  hurry  to  get  back,  so  as  to 
have  a  little  talk  with  Leslie  before  he  went  to 
his  train  ;  for  he  had  something  on  his  mind, 
and  wanted  to  get  it  off.  And  what  chance  had 
he  had  that  day  ? 

“Those  boys!”  he  said  to  himself.  “And 
that  confounded  old  cloak,  last  night  !  That 
just  spoiled  my  chance.  If  Uncle  Peter  should 
go  back  now,  the  last  hope  would  be  gone.  I 
could  barely  catch  the  train.” 

But  he  could  not  resist  Leslie’s  :  “  Please  make 
him  go  back.  Please,  —  please  do.” 

“Come,  Uncle  Peter,”  said  Tom,  “I’ll  give 
you  half  a  dollar  if  you  ’ll  turn  back.  But  you 
have  got  to  hurry.” 

“  Oh,  you  must  go  back !  ”  cried  the  ladies, 
trembling.  “You  must,  Uncle  Peter!” 

“  Why,  the  idea  of  leaving  a  man  in  that  sit¬ 
uation !  ”  said  Mrs.  Morris.  “It  will  never  do. 
I  should  feel  like  a  murderer.” 

“But,  maybe,  he  has  just  slipped  in,  and  is 
pulling  himself  out,”  said  Mr.  MacVickar,  who 
dreaded  the  night  air  on  his  rheumatic  shoulder. 
“  Let  the  boat  lie  still  until  we  see.” 

The  figure  remained  quiet  for  a  few  seconds, 
and  then  struggled  wildly. 

“  Nobody  can’t  drownd  there,”  said  Uncle 
Peter,  “’nless  he  tries  to.  It’s  shoal  in  the 
cove.  I  do  believe  it ’s  a  boy  tryin’  to  scare 
us.  Hallo  !  ” 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK .  149 


“  Who  be  yer  ?  Who  be  yer  ?  ”  he  called 
again. 

“  Be  yer  ?  ”  echoed  from  the  cliff. 

Uncle  Peter  was  very  indignant  that  the  man 
wouldn’t  “  holler.” 

“  Perhaps  he ’s  deaf,”  said  Leslie. 

“Or  dumb,”  said  Miss  Wilder. 

“  Or  contr’y,”  said  Uncle  Peter. 

“Well,  we  will  go  back  and  see,”  said  Tom. 
“That ’s  our  business  now.”  And  Leslie’s 
grateful  smile  fully  repaid  him. 

“Why  don’t  he  get  up?”  asked  Mrs.  Morris. 
They  were  all  straining  their  eyes.  “  I  should 
think  he  could.  He  has  hold  of  the  bushes.” 

“  Perhaps  they  give  way  when  he  pulls,”  said 
one  of  the  party.  “  Sometimes  he  gets  tired, 
and  only  holds  on.  Perhaps  he  fell  into  the 
water,  and  is  faint.” 

“  Why  don’t  he  holler,  then  ?  ”  asked  Uncle 
Peter,  keeping  to  his  grievance.  “  Time  to 
holler  is  when  you  want  suthin’.” 

The  light  was  fading ;  the  shadows  deepened 
in  the  little  cove. 

Miss  Wilder  was  faint. 

“  Will  he  have  to  be  brought  into  the  boat, 
if  he  is  dead  ?  ”  she  asked,  with  horror  in  her 
tone. 

“Wonder  nobody  ain’t  stole  him,”  said  Uncle 
Peter,  sarcastically,  “  along  ’o  the  pitcher!  ” 


150  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK . 


Tom  could  hardly  help  laughing ;  but  Leslie 
looked  so  solemn  that  he  did  not  dare  to.  Be¬ 
sides,  there  the  poor  fellow  was,  struggling  in  the 
water. 

As  the  boat  rounded  into  the  cove,  Tom  sprang 
up  on  the  little  cabin,  and,  holding  on  by  the 
mast,  bent  down,  ready  to  catch  the  drowning 
man. 

A  sudden  breeze  swept  over  the  bay.  The 
man  threw  up  his  arms  wildly.  There  was  a 
flapping  of  something  red. 

A  shout  went  up  from  the  boat.  Tom  leaned 
over,  and  pulled  on  board  the  “  drownded  man,0 
—  O.  C.  St.  John,  Esquire. 

“  It  is  that  old  cloak  of  Mrs.  St.  John’s,”  cried 
Mrs.  Morris,  laughing.  “  Now,  Uncle  Peter,  you 
see  why  he  couldn’t  ‘  holler.’  ” 

Leslie  put  her  face  in  her  hands.  She  was 
ready  to  cry  with  shame.  She  had  delayed  them 
all,  and  Tom  would  be  vexed  about  losing  his 
train.  But  no  one  cared  :  it  was  an  adventure. 

“  I  expected  to  help  pull  him  in,”  said  Mrs. 
Morris,  “  and  lay  him  on  his  left  side,  —  no,  on 
his  right,  — which  side  is  it  that  you  lay  drowned 
people  on  ?  —  and  get  a  medal.  That ’s  all  I  mind, 
and  I  shall  look  to  you  for  it,  Leslie,  because  he 
belongs  to  you.” 

Uncle  Peter’s  good-nature  was  restored  when 
Tom  slipped  the  promised  coin  into  his  hand. 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  151 


“  When  I  thought  it  was  a  man,”  said  he,  con¬ 
fidentially,  “  I  was  mad  to  hev  him  sich  a  fool,  — 
wouldn’t  holler !  But,  when  I  see  it  was  a  cloth 
cape,  I  thought  it  was  a  pretty  smart  cape, 
to  make  out  he  was  a  man.” 

Leslie  looked  over  the  side  of  the  boat,  and 
trailed  her  hand  along  in  the  water.  Tom  wrapped 
a  shawl  about  her,  which  Mrs.  Morris  had  handed 
him,  and  let  his  hand  slide  from  her  shoulder 
until  it  touched  hers  lightly. 

“  Don’t  mind,”  he  whispered.  “  It  was  nothing 
at  all :  they  all  think  it  is  funny.” 

“  Don’t  be  vexed  with  me,”  said  Leslie,  “  if 
you  lose  your  train.  If  it  had  really  been  a  man, 
you  wouldn’t  have  minded.” 

“  That ’s  all  right.  There ’s  plenty  of  time. 
Vexed  with  you,  Leslie!  How  could  I  be?” 
Tom  whispered  in  return. 

“  Come,  listen,”  said  Mrs.  Morris  :  “  I ’m  going 
to  tell  a  story.” 

“  Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  lady,  a  young 
lady,  who  was  so  anxious  to  procure  a  medal 
from  the  Humane  Society,  that  one  day  she 
hired  a  boat,  and  invited  a  large  party  of  friends 
to  aid  her  in  searching  for  a  shipwrecked  mariner. 
So  out  they  went  upon  the  ocean,  —  Mr.  Mac- 
Vickar’s  deep  and  dark  blue  ocean,”  — 

“Byron’s,  madam,”  said  Mr.  MacVickar:  “I 
cannot  claim  that  fine  apostrophe.” 

Mrs.  Morris  opened  her  eyes  at  Tom. 


152  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


“Well,”  she  continued,  “upon  Byron’s  deep 
and  dark  blue  ocean,  on  a  fine  summer  afternoon. 
The  first  thing  they  discovered,  with  mingled 
feelings,  was  a  floating  object.  Tears  filled  their 
eyes,  grief  their  bosoms.  It  was  a  man  and 
a  brother.  They  neared  him  ;  they  thought  of 
the  medal ;  they  reflected  that  ‘  he  was  some 
mother’s  son.’ 

“  Suddenly  it  was  discovered  that  it  was  noth¬ 
ing  but  an  old  cloak  ;  and  then,  when  joy  should 
have  possessed  them,  they  fell  a  prey  to  sadness. 
For,  ah,  where  was  the  medal  ! 

“  The  others  quickly  recovered  ;  but  this  young 
lady  could  not  be  comforted.  She  leaned  so  far 
over  the  boat  that  an  elderly  lady,  her  friend,  was 
obliged  to  entreat  a  young  gentleman  to  hold  her 
in.  I  don’t  wish  to  be  personal ;  but,  Mr.  Doug¬ 
las,  don’t  let  the  lady  with  the  Rob  Roy  shawl 

fall  into  the  water.” 

♦ 

Leslie  laughed.  She  knew  that  Mrs.  Morris 
had  told  the  silly  little  story  to  divert  her,  and, 
perhaps,  too,  to  show  her  that  she  was  making 
too  much  of  the  affair.  She  took  the  lesson,  if 
such  it  was,  and  smiled. 

“  I  think  you  are  very  kind,  not  to  be  vexed,” 
she  said.  “  I ’m  afraid  you  will  all  lose  your 
suppers,  and  that  Mr.  Douglas  will  miss  his 
train,  for  the  tide  is  running  out.” 

“Yes,”  said  Uncle  Peter;  “but  ain’t  I  got  my 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK.  1 53 


oars  aboard,  an’  ain’t  I  got  two  arms  ?  Nobody 
won’t  lose  no  suppers  nor  nothin’,  I  bet,  to¬ 
night.” 

The  tide  had  run  out,  however,  so  much  that 
they  had  to  go  ashore  in  a  “  skift,”  as  Uncle 
Peter  called  it,  two  at  a  time. 

“You  go  first,  with  Leslie,  Mr.  Douglas,”  said 
Mrs.  Morris.  “  Trains  won’t  wait,  and  suppers 
will.” 

Tom  blessed  her.  Perhaps  he  would  get  his 
chance  yet. 

They  stepped  into  the  skiff.  Uncle  Peter 
sculled  them  to  the  wharf,  and  left  them.  A 
stable-boy  was  waiting  there. 

“  Did  you  want  to  ketch  the  train  ?  ”  he  asked 

“  Y'es,”  said  Tom,  “  I  must.” 

“  Well,  I ’ve  had  the  horse  harnessed  ever  so 
long,  a-lookin’  for  you.  I  thought  you ’d  be  too 
late.  We’ll  have  to  hurry  like  sixty.’* 

“  Go  up,”  said  Tom.  “  I  ’ll  come.” 

He  took  Leslie’s  hand  in  a  firm,  close  grasp. 

“  Good-by,”  he  said. 

“  All  ready  !  ”  called  the  boy. 

“  Good-by,  Miss  Leslie.  I  ’ll  be  down  again 
soon.  Don’t  forget  me.  Promise  !  ” 

“  I  ’ll  promise,”  said  Leslie,  softly. 

“  You  ’ll  git  left !  ”  called  the  boy. 

“  Good-by  !  ”  said  Tom  again.  “  There  comes 
the  skiff.  Good-by  !  ” 


154  THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK. 


As  soon  as  they  reached  the  house,  Mrs. 
St.  John  called  Leslie  upstairs.  She  had  been 
watching  for  the  party. 

“  So  Mr.  Douglas  caught  his  train,”  said  she, 
shutting  the  door  of  her' room.  “  Well,  Leslie, 
did  he  make  you  an  offer  ?  ” 

“  No.” 

“  Well,  I  declare  ;  and  after  all  the  pains  I 
have  taken  to  keep  those  boys  away,  and  plan 
this  sail,  and  invite  him  here,  he  has  slipped  a.way 
in  the  dark  !  I  don  t  believe  he  had  any  engage¬ 
ment  in  town  :  he  didn’t  care  to  face  me,  after 
such  dishonorable  conduct.  I  reckon  he ’d  have 
done  differently,  if  the  Colonel  had  been  here. 
I  wish  he’d  just  met  up  with  him.” 

Leslie  said  nothing. 

“  Why  don’t  you  speak  ?  ”  said  Mrs.  St.  John, 
displeased  at  her  silence.  “  How  much  more  did 
you  want  me  to  do  ?  ” 

“  Nothing,”  said  Leslie. 

“  Nothing  !  ”  repeated  Mrs.  St.  John.  “  I  won¬ 
der  how  much  would  be  done  in  the  world,  if  no 
one  did  any  thing !  I  Ve  spent  days  and  days  in 
planning  for  you,  and  I  live  to  hear  you  say  you 
want  nothing  from  me.  Perhaps  Mr.  Douglas 
didn  t  have  time,  you  will  say.  How  long  would 
it  take  him  to  ask,  ‘Will  you  marry  me?’” 

”  I  don  t  know,”  said  Leslie,  crying. 

Well,  I  do,  said  her  aunt  :  “  about  half 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  155 


a  minute ;  and  he  had  twenty-four  hours  for 
it.” 

Leslie  felt  as  if  she  had  a  sum  to  do  :  if  a 
man  can  offer  himself  in  a  half  minute,  how 
many  times  can  he  offer  himself  in  twenty-four 
hours  ? 

She  was  utterly  miserable. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  Mr.  Mac- 
Vickar  wished  to  know  if  Mrs.  St.  John  was  not 
coming  down. 

“  Certainly,”  said  Mrs.  St.  John.  “  I  am  coming 
down  before  long.” 

In  the  parlor,  she  heard  the  story  of  the  ship¬ 
wrecked  mariner. 

“  We  may  safely  say,”  she  remarked,  “  that 
there  was  one  of  this  party  who  didn’t  mind 
being  delayed,  and  would  gladly  have  lost  his 
train.  Poor  Leslie,  I  do  believe  she  will  have  to 
marry  Mr.  Douglas,  whether  or  no.  He  is  so 
determined.  I  never  saw  a  man  so  in  love  in 
all  my  life.” 

Tom  was  rather  low-spirited  as  he  rolled 
away  over  the  country  road.  He  had  been 
frustrated  at  every  turn.  He  wished  the  old 
opera  cloak  had  been  drowned  for  good.  “  I 
believe  the  Evil  One  left  the  boys,  and  entered 
it, —  that  is,  if  it  isn’t  the  very  Evil  One  him¬ 
self,”  said  Tom.  “  I  thought  at  one  time  O.  C.  St. 


156  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


John  was  favoring  me,  to  Mr.  Cavello’s  discom¬ 
fort  ;  but  he  has  gone  against  me  now.  He’s 
making  a  clear  coast  for  some  other  fellow. 
Mrs.  St.  John  said  Merrill  was  very  attentive  to 
her.  Of  course.  Why  not?  And  he  has  the 
inside  track. 

“  I  wish  I  had  pushed  those  boys  and  their 
cloak  into  the  sea  last  night.  Gracious  !  That 
was  a  chance,  if  they  hadn’t  spoiled  it.  It  was 
on  my  lips  that  minute.” 

Poor  Tom  smiled  a  grim  smile. 

“Well,  it’s  a  queer  world.  I  wonder  how  all 
this  is  coming  out.” 

What  a  change  it  was  to  sit  in  the  dreary  car 
with  twoscore  strange  people,  where  the  lamps 
burned  dimly,  but  smelt  strongly. 

Was  it  less  than  an  hour  since  he  held  Leslie’s 
hand ! 

1  om  looked  out  of  the  window.  The  moon 
was  sailing  through  light  clouds.  Happy  moon  ! 
It  was  looking  down  on  Leslie. 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK.  157 


CHAPTER  IX. 


HE  morning  was  delightfully  cool  ;  the  sea 


JL  sparkled  in  the  sun  with  a  brilliant  and 
dazzling  brightness,  “  which  could  only  be 
caught,”  said  the  young  lady  who  sketched, 
“  by  using  coarse  paper,  and  scratching  little 
specks  of  paint  off  after  the  ocean  had  been  all 
washed  in.” 

A  group  of  old  apple-trees  near  the  hotel, 
gnarled  and  covered  with  yellow  lichens,  bent 
toward  the  land,  bowed  by  the  sea-winds  of 
many  winters. 

The  gulls  fluttered,  and  poised  themselves 
over  the  water  in  scattered  flocks. 

The  far-off  ships  stood  like  phantoms  on  the 
horizon’s  rim.  The  atmosphere  seemed  to 
tremble  and  vibrate. 

The  morning  could  not  have  been  finer,  if 
Mrs.  St.  John  had  made  it  herself.  She  had 
approached  the  feat,  as  nearly  as  possible,  by 
setting  the  day  apart  for  a  clam-bake  ;  and  she 
complacently  received  the  compliments  of  the 


153  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


party,  as  she  sat  in  a  Shaker  chair  on  the  piazza, 
after  breakfast. 

Mr.  MacVickar  sat  beside  her.  He  was  quite 
in  accord  with  the  day.  He  wore  a  light  flannel 
suit  and  a  Panama  hat. 

The  piazza  was  filled  with  ladies,  busied  with 
the  pleasant  flurry  of  “  getting  off.” 

Leslie  stood  by  the  steps,  with  an  armful  of 
shawls.  The  boys  •  came  hopping  toward  her 
like  frogs. 

“  Say,  Leslie,”  said  little  Clarence,  “  the 
people  who  hired  the  big  carriage  yesterday 
didn’t  bring  it  back,  and  the  picnic  has  got  to 
go  in  the  little  ones.  I ’m  jolly  glad  of  it,  for  I 
shall  drive  one  horse.” 

“No,  you  won’t  either,”  retorted  Wilfrid. 
“  They  wouldn’t  trust  you  with  any  horse  except 
a  saw-horse.” 

“  They  would,  too,”  said  Clarence.  “  I  ’ll  bet 
I  could  drive  a  tandem  team  that  could  run 
lickerty  split,  and  smash  every  thing  to  pieces, 
—  so,  there  !  ” 

The  carriages  came  to  the  door.  The  people 
who  were  going  to  the  clam-bake  stood  about 
waiting  for  Mr.  MacVickar,  who  was  the 
leader,  and  who  had  promised  to  sing  at  dinner 
a  song  about  a  young  lady  who  drank  only  with 
her  eyes. 

He  was  in  high  feather  to-day,  for  all  the 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK .  1 59 


younger  beaux  had  gone  to  the  city,  and  the 
papas  and  husbands  were  glad  to  throw  the  care 
upon  him. 

The  ladies  took  their  novels  and  their  fancy- 
work,  —  calico  birds  to  be  sewed  on  to  dish- 
towels.  Miss  Nelson  took  her  paint-boxes  and 
brushes,  a  jar  full  of  water,  a  sketching-block, 
a  camp-stool,  and  a  large  white  umbrella  with  a 
shining  ball  on  the  top.  Her  palette  hung  from 
her  belt.  Mr.  MacVickar  called  her  Art,  and 
asked  if  Literature  and  Science  would  not  join 
her  at  the  clam-bake. 

Mrs.  St.  John  looked  the  carriages  carefully 
over,  selected  the  easiest,  and  seated  herself 
in  it. 

At  last  they  were  ready  to  start,  and  there  was 
no  room  for  Leslie.  Every  one  exclaimed,  but 
no  one  offered  to  ride  “  three  on  a  seat.” 

“  Please  don’t  mind  me,”  said  Leslie.  “  I  am 
tired  to-day:  I  rowed  so  hard  yesterday.  I’d 
really  rather  stay  at  home.  Do  let  me,  Aunt 
Marie.” 

Mrs.  St.  John  glanced  around.  She  had  the 
most  room  in  her  carriage  :  Leslie  would  fall  to 
her  share. 

“  Well,”  said  she,  smiling  significantly  at 
the  company,  and  then  at  Leslie,  “  I  suppose 
young  ladies  must  have  a  little  time  to  meditate 
and  write  long  letters,  once  in  a  while.” 


l6o  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


“  Ah,  Miss  Leslie,”  said  Mr.  MacVickar,  rising 
and  bowing,  — 

“  Your  heart ’s  in  the  city, 

Your  heart  is  not  here  ; 

Your  heart ’s  in  the  city, 

A-chasing  your  — 

Oh  !  ”  he  exclaimed,  sitting  down  in  a  very  forci¬ 
ble  way,  as  the  horses  started.  And  away  they 
all  whirled,  bowing,  and  calling  “  Good-by.” 

Tom  had  brought  “  Cousin  Phillis  ”  to  Leslie. 
Oh,  what  a  blissful  day  this  would  be  to  read  it 
in  !  There  was  no  one  to  bother  her.  Even 
Pomp  had  gone  to  the  city  in  an  early  train,  to 
get  from  the  house  something  which  her  aunt 
had  forgotten. 

Leslie  went  to  her  room  for  the  book ;  and, 
seeing  the  opera  cloak  hanging  on  a  chair,  she 
took  it,  and,  equipped  with  that  and  a  large 
parasol,  set  off  for  a  morning  on  the  rocks. 

She  walked  along  the  beach  until  she  came 
to  Cannon  Rock,  where  she  climbed  to  a  seat 
which  almost  overhung  the  sea.  She  made  the 
cloak  into  a  cushion,  propped  the  parasol  up  at 
her  side,  and  took  up  her  book. 

But  soon  the  bright  pebbles  enticed  her  to 
the  beach.  Tom  had  promised  to  have  some 
polished  for  her  for  a  necklace.  What  a  necklace 
it  would  be,  full  of  memories  of  the  sky  and  of 
sea,  and  of  this  wonderful  summer,  and  of  Tom, 
above  all ! 


THE  COLONEL’S  OPERA  CLOAK.  l6l 


She  wandered  along  to  a  little  wharf,  where 
Uncle  Peter  sat,  swinging  his  legs  over  the  water. 
He  was  as  brown  and  gnarled  as  the  apple-trees : 
he  would  have  been  as  yellow  with  lichens,  had 
he  sat  still  long  enough.  Almost  every  thing 
here  was  covered  with  lichens  and  moss. 

The  old  man  smiled  on  her  as  she  approached, 
and  said,  “  Hallo,  Leslie  !  ”  with  that  Yankee  in¬ 
dependence  which  is  so  amusing.  “  Yer  ain’t 
lost  nothin’,  hev  yer  ?  I  see  yer  a-lookin’  along 
the  beach.” 

“  Oh,  no,”  she  replied.  “  I  was  only  getting 
some  bright  pebbles  for  a  necklace.” 

Uncle  Peter  shook  his  head,  and  laughed 
scornfully. 

“  I  never  see  en’thin’  to  beat  city  folks.  They  ’ll 
kerry  away  enough  stuff,  when  they  come  here, 
to  make  an  island.  One  ’oman  paid  me  for 
fetchin’  sea-weeds  to  her,  an’  she  give  me  fifty 
cents  for  ten  big  hoss-foots.  She  was  as  par- 
tic’lar  to  hev  whole  tails  on  ’em,  as  they ’d  ’a’  ben 
themselves  when  they  was  alive.  I  thought  I 
should  hev  died  to  keep  from  laughin’,  when  she 
was  a-payin’  me.” 

“  Oh,”  said  Leslie,  “  she  wanted  them  for  catch¬ 
alls.  I  have  seen  the  ladies  making  them.  They 
put  a  puff  of  crimson  silk  behind  them,  and 
bows  of  ribbon,  and  hang  them  on  the  parlor 
wall.” 


ii 


1 62  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


“Lor!”  cried  Uncle  Peter,  in  utter  astonish¬ 
ment.  “  Yer  don’t  say  so  !  I  allers  heave  mine 
to  the  hog.  But  the  most  sing’lar  thing  that 
’oman  did,”  continued  Uncle  Peter,  “  was  to  hunt 
up  clam-shells  an’  flat  rocks,  an’  paint  pictur’s  on 
’em.  I  ’ll  bet  her  trunk  wa’n’t  no  joke  to  h’ist, 
when  she  went  off !  But,  then,  no  city  trunks 
ain’t,  when  they  fust  come.  I ’ve  hefted  ’em 
sometimes,  an’  I  should  think  they  was  allers 
full  o’  rocks.” 

“  I  think  stones  and  shells  are  lovely,”  said 
Leslie.  “  I  wish  I  could  paint  on  them.” 

“I  don’t  wish  to  speak  dis’espec’ful  o’  shells,” 
said  Uncle  Peter.  “  Why,  I ’ve  picked  up  shells 
myself,  when  I  was  oft  on  a  South  Sea  crewse. 
I  scooped  ’em  up  in  my  het  to  fetch  home ;  but 
they  wa’n’t  clam-shells,  I  can  tell  yer  !  They 
was  all  pink  an’  yeller,  an’  gold  an’  silver.  I  ’ll 
fetch  yer  a  fistful  to-morrer.  Lany  keeps  ’em 
in  bottles  on  the  mantel-tree.” 

“  Oh,”  said  Leslie,  “  I  should  like  them  so 
much  !  I ’d  keep  them  always.  But  perhaps 
your  daughter  won’t  like  to  part  with  them.  Is 
she  better  to-day  ?  ” 

“  I  guess  we  ‘11  fetch  her  round  now,”  replied 
Uncle  Peter.  “But  I  thought  she’d  be  hauled 
up,  one  time.  Lany  !  why,  she ’d  give  ’em  to  yer 
herself.  She  don’t  set  no  store  by  ’em.” 

“  The  sun  is  so  hot,”  said  Leslie,  “  that  I  think 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK .  163 


I  ’ll  go  back.  I  wish  there  were  some  trees 
along  the  shore,  so  that  you  could  sail  under 
them  and  anchor,  and  I  could  lie  in  the  boat 
and  read.” 

“  Oh,  trees  ain’t  no  good  for  shade,”  said  Un¬ 
cle  Peter.  “  It ’s  rocks  that  shades.  I  know  a 
cove  where  we  could  run  in  an’  be  as  cold  as  ice. 
I  ’ll  take  yer  there,  ef  yer  want  to  go.” 

“  Oh,  do  !  ”  cried  Leslie.  “  That  will  be  lovely. 
I  ’ll  run  back  to  the  rock  for  my  things.” 

A  gentleman  had  driven  up  to  the  hotel  door, 
where  the  landlord  was  standing  in  portly  dig¬ 
nity. 

“  Mrs.  St.  John,  does  she  board  here  ?  ”  he  asked. 

“  Oh,  yes,”  said  the  landlord,  stepping  to  the 
buggy-  “  But  the  whole  family,  in  fact  most  of 
my  guests,  have  gone  to  a  clam-bake.  I  don’t 
expect  them  back  till  supper-time.  I ’m  sorry 
they  are  away,  sir.  You ’d  better  get  out.  Your 
horse  looks  as  if  he  had  had  a  long  run.” 

The  gentleman  allowed  a  small  boy,  who  ap¬ 
peared  at  this  moment,  to  take  his  horse,  and 
accepted  the  landlord’s  invitation. 

“  I  tell  you,  sir,”  said  Mr.  Saunders,  after  they 
had  seated  themselves  on  the  piazza,  “  it  isn’t 
often  you  come  across  a  Southern  family  like 
the  St.  Johns,  nowadays.  They  have  four  of 
my  best  rooms  for  the  summer,  and  think  no 


164  THE  COLONELS  OPERA  CLOAK. 


more  of  money  than  of  just  nothing  at  all,  sir. 
They  are  very  wealthy,  as  of  course  you  know, 
if  they  are  friends  of  yours.  The  young  lady  is 
an  heiress,  —  untold  wealth,  in  fact,  I  ’ve  heard, 
—  and  a  very  beautiful  young  lady  she  is.  The 
young  men  are  quite  carried  away  with  her.  I 
believe  she  is  to  marry  a  young  man  from  the 
city.  He  was  down  here  a  few  days  ago.” 

“  Oh  !  his  name,  it  was  Mr.  Douglas  ?  ”  asked 
the  gentleman. 

“  Yes,  that  was  his  name.  He  came  to  attend 
our  hop;  and  a  very  nice  hop  it  was.  You 
know  him,  I  suppose  ?  ” 

“  Yes,  I  do  know  him.” 

“Well,  sir,  won’t  you  walk  in  and  look  at  the 
newspapers  ?  I  am  sorry  they  are  away.” 

The  red  side  of  the  opera  cloak  hung  over  the 
rock,  and  now  caught  the  landlord’s  eye.  At 
that  moment,  also,  a  lithe  figure  in  dark  blue 
appeared,  far  down  on  the  beach. 

“Why,  that’s  Miss  St.  John,  now!  I  thought 
she ’d  gone.  I  ’ll  send  a  boy  for  her.” 

“  No,”  said  the  stranger.  “  I  will  myself  go  for 
her.  You  may  put  my  horse  in  your  stable.” 

Mr.  Cavello  had  been  suspicious  of  Tom  since 
the  day  he  last  saw  him  in  Margrave  Street. 
He  was  sure  that  Tom  knew  where  the  St. 
Johns  had  gone,  although  he  had  made  believe 
he  did  not.  After  waiting  in  vain  for  an  answer 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK .  165 


from  the  Colonel,  he  had  turned  his  steps  to  the 
Doctor’s,  when  he  knew  Tom  would  be  at  his 
office,  to  ask  for  Mrs.  St.  John’s  address.  As  he 
approached,  he  saw  Ned  playing  on  the  sidewalk. 

“  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Cavello  ?  ”  said  the  little 
fellow.  “You  didn’t  go  to  the  beach  with  the 
rest  of  them,  did  you  ?  ” 

“  No,  I  have  not  gone  yet ;  but  I  go  now.  I 
have  lost  the  address.  Can  you  tell  it  to  me  ?  ” 

“  Oh,  yes,  I  know  the  place.  I  went  there 
once  last  summer  with  Bessie.  You  can  find 
it  easy  enough.  Tom  went  there  last  week.” 
And  the  child  gave  him  over  and  over  again  the 
most  careful  directions,  and  sent  his  love  to  the 
boys. 

Mr.  Cavello  walked  off  in  high  spirits.  He 
would  go  to  Mrs.  St.  John,  and  be  very  angry, 
and  tell  her  that  he  was  to  fight  the  Colonel  and 
young  Mr.  Douglas,  and  that  he  would  revenge 
himself  on  them  all ;  and  he  would  marry  Leslie. 
She  should  never  marry  Mr.  Douglas. 

Poor  Mr.  Cavello’s  heart  was  really  touched. 
He  had  not  known  that  he  had  one  before,  and 
it  was  a  real  pleasure  to  make  the  discovery. 

What  there  was  of  it  must  have  been  good, 
for  it  was  Leslie’s  sweetness  and  goodness 
which  had  won  him.  He  had  seen  many  more 
beautiful  girls,  but  never  one  like  her.  Oh,  if 
he  could  only  carry  her  away  to  his  plantation, 


1 66  THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK. 


away  from  everybody  else,  he  would  buy  her  the 
most  beautiful  jewels  and  dresses,  and  his  slaves 
should  wait  upon  her  day  and  night  ;  and  a 
sense  of  something  purer  and  finer  than  he  had 
ever  known  filled  his  soul,  until  he  was  lost  in 
wonder  and  admiration  of  himself. 

Leslie  had  picked  up  the  cloak,  the  parasol 
and  the  book,  and  had  begun  to  descend  to  the 
beach,  merrily  humming  to  herself,  when  she 
became  conscious  of  some  one  approaching. 
Was  it  Tom  ?  Her  heart  almost  stopped  beat¬ 
ing.  She  looked  up,  and  uttered  a  little  cry. 

Mr.  Cavello  raised  his  hat. 

“  Do  not  come  down,  Miss  Leslie,”  he  called. 
“  It  is  I  who  will  come  to  you.  You  have  a  fine 
place  up  there.” 

Leslie  sat  down  in  despair,  and  Mr.  Cavello 
took  his  seat  beside  her,  and  held  the  sun- 
umbrella  over  them  both. 

They  seemed  very  cozy  and  friendly,  the 
landlord  thought,  as  he  stood  looking  at  them 
from  a  distance,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

Leslie  was  silent  after  the  first  greetings. 

“  I  thought  I  would  find  where  you  had  gone,” 
said  Mr.  Cavello,  fanning  himself  with  his  hat, 
his  anger  fading  in  Leslie’s  presence.  “  Why 
did  you  run  away  from  me  ?  ” 

“  Oh,  I  didn’t  run  away  from  you,”  said  Leslie, 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK .  1 67 


earnestly.  She  had  felt  ashamed  at  the  way  in 
which  her  aunt  had  treated  him. 

“  I  should  have  written  you,”  she  added,  “and 
sent  you  the  keys,  only  I  did  not  know  where 
you  were.  It  was  too  bad :  your  clothes  were 
all  there.” 

“  Oh,  that  was  of  little  matter,”  said  Mr.  Ca- 
vello.  “  You  know  I  had  a  room  at  the  club, 
where  I  went  with  my  friends,  and  I  had  other 
trunks  there.”  Leslie’s  imagination  was  limited 
in  respect  of  wardrobes.  “  But  it  was  of  your 
unkindness  I  was  troubled.” 

“  They  are  all  away  to-day,”  said  Leslie,  tak¬ 
ing  no  notice  of  his  remarks.  “They  have  gone 
to  a  picnic,  and  Pomp  is  in  the  city.  I  am  so 
sorry  that  I  don’t  know  where  he  keeps  the 
keys  ;  but  I  will  send  them  to  you.” 

“  Oh,  that  is  nothing,”  said  Mr.  Cavello.  “  I 
have  money  enough.  I  can  buy  as  much  clothes 
as  I  wish.  I  only  used  to  stay  at  your  aunt’s, 
you  know,  because  when  my  visit  was  done  I 
could  not  go  away  from  you.  But  you  did  not 
care.  I  had  a  beautiful  gift  for  your  aunt  for 
letting  me  stay  there  ;  but  she  ran  you  all  away.” 

Mr.  Cavello  did  not  mention  the  money  he 
had  lent  the  Colonel. 

“  Oh,  you  must  not  care  for  me,”  cried  Leslie, 
in  distress,  the  swift  color  rushing  to  her 
cheeks. 


1 68  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


“  But  I  cannot  help  to  love  you,”  said  Mr. 
Cavello.  “  But  I  know  very  well  you  do  not  like 
me,  and  you  do  like  some  one  else.” 

He  looked  so  forlorn  that  Leslie’s  tender 
heart  was  touched. 

“  Oh,  I  do  not  say  that,  —  I  do  not  think,  — 
nobody  cares  ”  — 

“  ^  there  is  nobody  else,  perhaps  you  will 
some  time  love  me.  I  would  get  every  thing  for 
you  that  women  like.  I  have  plenty  of  money,” 
said  Mr.  Cavello. 

“  That  would  not  make  any  difference  with 
me,’  said  Leslie,  gently.  “I  do  not  care  for 
money,  nor  for  diamonds,  nor  for  any  of  the 
things  Aunt  Marie  likes.  If  I  should  ever 
marry  anybody,  it  would  be  just  because  I  loved 
him,  and  not  for  what  he  had.  I  would  marry 
him,  if  he  was  very,  very  poor,  so  that  I  should 
have  to  work  hard  all  the  time.” 

Leslie’s  slender  hands  were  crossed  upon  her 
lap.  Mr.  Cavello  touched  them  lightly. 

“  What  work  could  such  little  hands  do  ?  ”  he 
said  in  a  tender  tone. 

Leslie  shook  off  his  hand  as  if  it  had  been 
a  viper. 

Oh,  do  not  talk  so  to  me  !  ”  she  cried  pas¬ 
sionately,  the  tears  starting  to  her  eyes.  “  Am 
I  not  unhappy  enough,  with  nobody  to  care  for 
me,  but  that  you  must  trouble  me,  too  ?  I  have 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  169 


no  mother,  like  most  girls.  Aunt  Marie  doesn’t 
love  me.  I  shall  never  marry  anybody.  Who 
would  love  me  ?  Don’t  speak  to  me !  Don’t 
say  a  word  !  ” 

Mr.  Cavello  was  startled.  He  had  never  seen 
Leslie  so  excited.  She  was  lamenting  that 
nobody  loved  her,  and  at  the  same  time  forbid¬ 
ding  anybody  to  think  of  her. 

“  I  will  not  say  any  more,”  said  he,  “  if  you  will 

stop  crying.  If  you  cannot  love  me,  will  you 

not  be  my  good  friend  always  ?  ”  And  he  held 

out  his  hand.  » 

% 

The  change  in  his  tone  comforted  the  girl. 

“  Oh,  yes,  I  ’ll  be  your  friend  ;  but  do  not  say 
such  things  to  me  any  more.” 

“You  will  know,”  said  Mr.  Cavello,  “  that  I 
am  going  away  very  soon.  A  week  from  to-day 
the  steamer  sails,  and  you  will  never  see  me  any 
more,  ever  ;  and  I  should  like  to  know  you  are 
my  good  friend,  before  I  go.  Will  you  do  me  a 
last  kindness,  and  go  to  a  little  drive  with  me?” 

At  the  pleasant  news  of  his  speedy  departure, 
Leslie  grew  cheerful,  and  said  kindly,  — 

“  I  ’ll  go  for  a  little  while  ;  but  you  must  stay 
and  dine  with  me.  If  you  will  wait  until  Aunt 
Marie  comes  home,  I  can  get  you  the  keys  to¬ 
night.” 

She  looked  round  to  see  the  cause  of  the 
sudden  change  in  Mr.  Cavello’s  face. 


170  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


“Hallo!”  said  Uncle  Peter,  his  red  face 
appearing  over  a  rock.  “  Changed  yer  mind 
about  goin’  out,  hevn’t  yer?” 

Uncle  Peter’s  curiosity  had  been  too  much  for 
him.  He  thought  he  must  have  a  look  at  that 
“  queer  chap  ”  whom  he  had  seen  from  afar. 

“  Found  better  company,  hev  yer  ?  ”  said  he, 
with  an  unrestrained  wink  at  Leslie. 

“  This  is  a  friend  of  my  uncle’s,  from  the  city,” 
she  said.  “  I  shall  have  to  wait  until  some  othei 
day  for  the  sail,  unless,”  turning  eagerly  to  Mr. 
Cavello,  “you  would  rather  sail  than  drive.  It  is 
so  lovely  on  the  water,  and  your  horse  must  be 
tired.” 

She  shrank  from  a  tete-a-tete  drive  ;  but  Mr. 
Cavello  did  not. 

“  My  horse  will  be  refreshed  after  dinner,”  he 
said. 

“  Some  other  day,  then,  Uncle  Peter,”  said 
Leslie.  “  Don’t  forget  my  shells.” 

Mr.  Cavello  had  some  ideas  of  his  own  con¬ 
cerning  himself  and  other  people.  He  thought 
he  was  a  very  good-looking  man,  as,  indeed,  he 
was,  for  those  who  like  that  style.  Then  he 
thought  he  was  a  “  great  catch,”  with  his  fine 
plantation  and  plenty  of  money  ;  and,  for  those 
who  care  for  such  things  above  all  others,  he 
certainly  was.  He  believed  any  woman  must  be 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


171 


urged  and  coaxed  and  almost  forced  into  saying 
“Yes.”  Leslie  was  only  making  believe.  Why, 
he  was  very  good  to  want  to  marry  a  girl  who 
had  not  a  cent  ;  and  that  was  a  very  pretty  and 
complimentary  speech  she  made  about  not  mar 
rying  for  money. 

And  so  Mr.  Cavello  felt  rather  comfortable, 
upon  the  whole. 

Leslie  hoped  he  would  forget  the  drive ;  but 
he  oidered  the  horse  before  dinner,  and,  when 
they  came  out  from -the  dining-room,  the  carriage 
was  at  the  door. 

The  folded  cloak  and  the  parasol  lay  in  a  chair 
on  the  piazza.  Mr.  Cavello  gave  them  to  Leslie, 
after  she  was  seated. 

She  talked  incessantly.  She  dreaded  a  silence. 
Mr.  Cavello  exerted  himself  to  be  entertaining 
by  telling  her  about  Cuba  and  the  ways  of  living 
there,  until  Leslie  thought  Cuba  must  be  the 
third  heaven,  to  say  the  least.  But  she  did  not 
want  to  go  there,  if  it  was. 

While  Mr.  Cavello  described  his  plantation  in 
glowing  colors,  Leslie  was  wishing  this  was  the 
rainy  night  of  that  happy  drive,  and  that  Mr. 
Cavello  was  Tom. 

“  What  a  sad  world  this  is  !  ”  thought  the  girl. 

“  Here  is  poor  Mr.  Cavello  liking  me ;  and  I  like 
1  om  ;  and  Tom  cares  for  nobody,  unless,  perhaps, 
for  Miss  Henderson.  If  Mr.  Cavello  had  only 


172  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


fallen  in  love  with  Gertrude,  who  is  fond  of  fine 
dresses  and  diamonds  !  ”  And  Leslie’s  poor  little 
brain  was  tired  with  trying  to  unravel  the  mys¬ 
teries  of  life,  as  have  been  many  wiser  ones 
before. 

She  looked  about  her  in  surprise.  “Why,  Mr. 
Cavello,”  she  said,  “  I  never  drove  through  this 
town.  What  is  it  ?  What  a  long  drive  we  must 
have  taken  !  It  is  four  by  that  church  clock.” 

“  I  do  not  know  the  name  of  that  town,”  he  * 
replied,  “  but  I  know  my  way.  Did  you  think  I 
had  lost  it  ?  ” 

“  Oh,  no  ;  only  I  think  we  had  better  turn  back. 
Aunt  Marie  will  want  me  when  she  comes  home  : 
Pomp  is  away,  you  know.” 

“You  must  not  make  yourself  so  very  much 
to  people,”  said  Mr.  Cavello,  “  that  they  cannot 
do  without  you.” 

“  But  Aunt  Marie  has  always  been  waited  on,” 
said  Leslie. 

“  Well,  we  will  go  home  very  soon,”  said  Mr. 
Cavello,  turning  into  another  road.  “  Remember, 
this  is  my  latest  drive  with  you.” 

If  sacrifice  on  her  part  could  atone  for  rudeness 
on  her  aunt’s,  she  felt  that  she  had  done  her  duty 
by  Mr.  Cavello. 

“  Why,  Mr.  Cavello,”  she  cried,  after  a  time, 
“what  are  we  coming  to?  You  have  lost  your 
way !  There  is  no  such  large  place  near  the 
hotel !  Why,  it  is  the  city,  isn’t  it !  ” 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  1 73 


“Yes,’  said  Mr.  Cavello,  “and  I  have  brought 
you  here  on  purpose  ;  and,  my  dear  Miss  Leslie, 
I  want  to  take  you  with  me  to  my  beautiful  home, 
away  from  this  cold  place.  You  are  young  :  you 
do  not  know  about  love.  I  will  teach  it  to  you. 
You  shall  be  my  queen,  and  I  will  be  your  slave. 
You  say  nobody  does  care  for  you  here;  and 
why  do  you  stay  ?  ” 

He  spoke  with  warmth  ;  he  tried  to  take  her 
hand.  Leslie  caught  it  away,  and  pressed  against 
the  side  of  the  carriage.  She  was  very  much 
startled. 

“I  know,”  he  cried,  with  passion,  “it  is  Mr. 
Douglas  you  love  ;  but  you  need  not.  He  will 
marry  the  handsome  young  lady.  I  know  he 
will  marry  her.  And  she  hates  you  very  much. 
I  saw,  I  saw  !  ” 

It  was  true  :  Leslie  felt  it  in  her  soul.  It  was 
nothing  new  that  he  had  told  her.  Always, 
always,  always  she  had  known  it. 

“  I  have  heard  in  the  city  that  he  marries  her 
soon,”  said  Mr.  Cavello,  improvising ;  and  he 
added  :  — 

“  Plow  will  you  stay  here,  while  your  aunt  does 
not  want  you,  and  you  have  no  money  ?  Oh,  come 
with  me  !  I  know  a  priest  here  :  he  is  my  great 
friend.  We  will  go  there,  and  be  married  ;  and 
away  in  my  home  you  will  be  glad  to  forget 
this  bad  Mr.  Douglas,  who  has  tried  to  make 


174  THE  COLONEL’S  OPERA  CLOAK . 


you  love  him.  I  will  fight  him,  if  you  should 
wish  me.” 

Leslie  tried  to  speak.  Her  voice  would  not 
come.  She  looked  entreatingly  at  him.  He 
would  not  understand  :  he  could  not.  He  thought 
she  was  considering :  of  course  she  would  con¬ 
sent,  after  what  she  considered  the  proper  amount 
of  coquetting.  His  mind  reverted  to  the  number¬ 
less  mammas  who  had  tried  to  “  lasso  ”  him,  and 
the  daughters  who  had  shot  arrows  by  the 
quiverful.  Surely,  this  poor  little  girl  could  not  * 
refuse  so  great  a  chance. 

Wealth  was  not  happiness,  as  Mr.  Cavello 
knew ;  but  that  poverty  and  dependence  meant 
unhappiness,  he  felt  very  sure,  and  he  was  aware 
that  this  girl  had  tasted  them  in  their  bitterness. 

They  were  now  in  the  heart  of  the  city.  Peo¬ 
ple,  glancing  at  the  pretty  girl  and  the  dark 
Spaniard,  thought  them  lovers  on  a  pleasure 
drive.  “  Well,  the  world  is  smooth  enough  for 
some  folks,”  they  sighed,  and  passed  on. 

“Mr.  Cavello,”  said  Leslie,  “do  not  say  any 
more  to  me.  You  must  let  me  get  out.  You 
surely  don’t  wish  to  marry  a  girl  who  doesn’t 
love  you.” 

“  Yes,  I  do,”  said  he,  passionately.  “You  will 
like  me  by  and  by.” 

“No,  I  won’t!”  cried  Leslie.  “I  shall  hate 
you.” 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK .  1 75 


“  Well,  I  cannot  make  you  to  marry  me,”  said 
Mr.  Cavello.  “If  I  could,  I  would  do  it.  Your 
aunt,  she  told  me  to  marry  you.” 

Leslie’s  cheeks  flamed  up.  She  did  not  feel 
like  fainting  now. 

“  Oh  !  ”  she  cried,  striking  her  hands  together. 
“  Why  can’t  I  work,  like  other  people,  and  take 
care  of  myself  !  I  must !  I  will !  You  say  you 
are  my  friend,  but  it  is  not  true.  I  am  not  your 
friend.  I  never  want  to  see  you  again.  Stop 
your  horse!  Let  me  get  out!  I  must  go 
home !  ” 

“  But  listen  to  me,”  cried  Mr.  Cavello,  holding 

7  O 

her  by  the  wrist :  for  Leslie  had  put  her  hands 
on  the  reins. 

“Am  I  not  a  handsome  man?  Am  I  not  a 
rich  man  ?  Am  I  not  a  young  man  ?  Do  I  not 
love  you  ?  What  more  do  you  want,  in  this  long 
earth,  in  me  ?  ” 

“  Oh,  nothing,  nothing,”  returned  Leslie.  “  I ’d 
as  lief  you  were  homely  and  poor  and  old.” 

“  \  ou  would  like  me,  if  I  was  homely  and 
poor  and  old.  Well,  I  cannot  make  myself 
that,”  said  he,  “  even  to  please  you,  Miss  Leslie. 
You  are  a  very  strange  young  lady.  Oh,  what 
can  I  do  to  make  you  marry  me  ?  Tell  me  at 
once  that  you  will.  I  am  not  in  my  way  to  beg 
young  ladies  to  marry  me.  They  do  all  wish  -  to 
do  it  without  it.” 


1 76  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


“  Then  go  and  marry  them  !  ”  cried  Leslie,  now 
really  frightened.  “  Stop  !  I  must  get  out !  ” 

Pomp,  who  had  spent  his  day  in  the  city, 
searching  the  attic  for  things  which  he  finally 
found  in  the  kitchen,  and  the  parlor  for  things 
which  he  found  in  the  attic,  was  slowly  trudging 
along  toward  the  depot,  with  bundles  under  each 
arm,  when  he  saw  a  little  boy  running  at  full 
speed  past  him,  swinging  at  arm’s  length  a  blue 
cape  lined  with  red. 

Pomp  had  been  too  intimate  with  the  Colonel’s 
opera  cloak  not  to  know  it  when  he  met  it ;  but 
how  in  the  world  had  it  got  to  the  city  ?  Pomp 
flew  after  the  boy,  crying,  “  Stop,  thief  !  Stop, 
thief!” 

The  boy  turned  up  the  first  corner,  and  Pomp 
rushed  after  him.  The  street  was  blocked  by 
carriages  and  horse-cars.  Just  as  the  boy  reached 
the  crowd,  he  dashed  up  to  a  buggy,  and  Pomp 
in  another  second  had  collared  him. 

“  Miss  Leslie,”  cried  Pomp,  looking  into  the 
carriage,  “  whar  did  yer  come  from  ?  ” 

“O  Pomp,”  cried  Leslie.  “Take  me  home!” 

“  Let  me  go  !  ”  cried  the  boy,  shaking  himself 
out  of  Pomp’s  unconscious  grip.  “  I  saw  the 
lady  lose  the  cape  out  of  the  carriage.  ’Tain’t 
yourn  !  ” 

“Oh,  thank  you  !  Thank  you  !  ”  said  Leslie. 
She  had  no  money  to  give  the  boy. 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK.  1 77 


Mr.  Cavello  turned  the  horse’s  head  suddenly, 
and  started  off  in  another  direction.  Pomp  in¬ 
stantly  sprang  for  the  bridle,  and  clung  to  it 
with  both  arms,  his  legs  tucked  up  under  him 
in  a  ludicrous  fashion. 

Mr.  Cavello  was  furious.  He  stood  up  and 
raised  his  whip  to  lash  Pomp,  when  Leslie 
seized  his  arm  and  held  it. 

“  Lift  me  out,  Pomp  !  ”  she  cried,  and  sprang 
to  the  ground,  with  the  cape  in  her  hand,  leaving 
the  parasol  as  a  souvenir  for  Mr.  Cavello.  It 
was  very  little,  but  it  was  something. 

There  was  nothing  more  for  Mr.  Cavello  to  do. 

Pomp  picked  up  his  scattered  bundles,  and 
Leslie  and  he  took  a  horse-car  for  the  depot,  in 
as  quiet  and  commonplace  a  way  as  if  nothing 
unusual  had  occurred. 

A  train  had  just  gone,  and  there  was  a  long 
half-hour  to  wait  for  the  next.  The  usual  old 
man  came  around  with  soap  to  sell,  and  the 
usual  old  woman  with  pins  and  tape  ;  people 
went  in  and  out,  and  met  their  friends  ;  an 
old  lady  was  left,  after  waiting  two  hours  for 
her  train  ;  and  an  old  gentleman  came  just  too 
late  for  his,  and  tried  to  get  the  ticket-office  to 
open  its  inexorable  window. 

Leslie  sat,  dazed  and  wretched.  What  was 
life  for  ?  What  was  the  use  of  living  ?  Was 
it  always  to  go  on  in  this  way  ?  Oh,  if  she 


178  THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK. 


could  only  go  away  from  them  all,  and  never 
see  them  again,  —  just  she  and  poor  old  Pomp! 
He  was  her  only  friend.  If  Tom  cared  any 
thing  for  her,  why  didn’t  he  take  her  away  ? 
Alas,  he  would  never  care  about  her.  Hadn’t 
Mr.  Cavello  said  so,  and  her  aunt  too  ?  And 
wasn’t  her  heart  beating  “never,  never,  never”? 

While  Pomp  and  Leslie  were  waiting  in  the 
railway  station,  the  picnic  party  returned.  Mrs. 
St.  John  was  tired  and  cross.  The  clams,  ac¬ 
cording  to  the  usual  custom,  had  been  either 
half-baked  or  burned,  and  the  corn  nearly  raw. 
Mrs.  Stevens’s  sister  had  flirted  shamefully  with 
Mr.  MacVickar. 

Mr.  MacVickar  himself  wore  a  sort  of  dishev¬ 
elled  air.  He  had  grass-stains  on  his  light  suit, 
as  if  he  had  wrestled  too  roughly  with  Nature. 
But  the  oak-wreath  around  his  hat,  and  the  corn- 
silk  in  his  button-hole,  gave  him  the  look  of  a ' 
hard-pressed  conqueror.  It  seemed  unfair  that 
the  mild  clam  and  unoffending  maize  should 
have  given  him  the  Bacchanalian  look  which 
he  wore. 

The  young  ladies,  who  had  gone  out  with  be¬ 
witching,  fluffy  crimps  over  their  foreheads,  had 
returned  with  little  wisp  brooms  instead, —  with¬ 
out  the  handles,  of  course :  for  no  simile  is  to  be 
run  into  the  ground. 

“Where  is  Leslie?”  said  Mrs.  St.  John,  in  a 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK.  1 79 


cross  tone.  “  I  should  think  Pomp  might  have 
got  home  by  this  time,  at  any  rate.  The  most 
stupid  day  I  ever  knew  in  my  life  !  Where  can 
Leslie  be  !  ” 

Mr.  Saunders  passed  her  as  she  spoke. 

“  Oh,  a  gentleman,  a  Spaniard,  I  should  think, 
—  I ’ve  forgotten  his  name,  —  called  to  see  you. 
He  dined  with  Miss  St.  John,  and  then  took  her 
to  ride.” 

“  Mr.  Cavello  !  ”  cried  Mrs.  St.  John,  in  amaze¬ 
ment.  “How  did  he  know  where  to  find  us! 
When  will  they  come  back  ?  ” 

“  I  presume  they  ’ll  be  back  to  tea,”  answered 
the  landlord. 

“  Oh,”  said  Mrs.  St.  John,  turning  to  the  ladies, 
her  spirits  rising.  “  You  should  see  Mr.  Cavello! 
He  is  an  immensely  wealthy  Cuban.  Leslie’s 
money  is  nothing  compared  to  his.  He  would 
call  her  poor. 

“  The  way  that  man  haunted  our  house  !  I  was 
afraid  he  and  Mr.  Douglas,  who  was  here  at  the 
hop,  would  have  a  duel.  I  shall  be  thankful 
when  that  girl  is  once  off  my  hands.  Leslie’s 
lovers  are  too  much  for  one  poor  woman  to  look 
after. 

“  If  Leslie  and  Mr.  Cavello  arrange  it  this 
afternoon,  there  will  be  another  diamond  wed¬ 
ding.  ‘  Signorina  Fernando  Cavello,  nee  St.  John,’ 
or  whatever  means  ‘  born  ’  in  Spanish,  wouldn’t 


I  So  THE  CO  LONE  HS  OPEE  A  CLOAK. 


be  bad  on  a  card,  would  it  ?  ”  said  Mrs.  St.  John, 
looking  triumphantly  around  upon  the  group  of 
ladies. 

4‘  There  ar’n’t  many  girls,”  she  went  on,  “  who 
wouldn’t  have  snapped  such  a  catch  up  before  ; 
but  she  is  so  young  and  so  attractive  that  she 
can  afford  to  take  time.  She  doesn’t  have  to 
swallow  them  whole.”  And  here  Mrs.  St.  John 
smiled  sweetly  and  significantly  on  Mrs.  Stevens’s 
sister,  who  was  by  no  means  in  her  first  youth. 

The  ladies,  who  had  meant  to  sup  in  their 
picnic  array,  now  decided  to  change  their  dresses, 
and  were  quite  excited  as  they  recrimped  their  hair 
by  feeble  candles.  Mrs.  Stevens’s  sister  gave  it 
up,  and  donned  a  jockey  hat  and  a  gay  sack. 

As  soon  as  the  tea-bell  sounded,  everybody  hur¬ 
ried  downstairs.  They  hardly  dared  to  go  to  the 
table,  for  fear  of  missing  the  grand  arrival  ;  for, 
as  this  was  the  middle  of  the  week,  excitements 
were  rare. 

At  last  they  went  in,  and  watched,  between 
mouthfuls,  for  Leslie  and  her  gay  lover. 

“  Dear  me,”  said  Mrs.  St.  John,  “I  am  really 
getting  anxious.  I  hope  Mr.  Cavello  will  not 
lose  his  way.  I  must  order  a  hot  supper  kept 
for  them.” 

After  tea,  the  ladies  repaired  to  the  piazza. 
They  were  too  tired  to  talk.  They  listened  to 
the  crickets,  who,  never  weary,  except  of  silence, 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


1 8 1 


were  chirping  a  quick  reveille.  The  plash  of  the 
waves  softened  the  sharp  sound. 

The  light  was  beginning  to  fade,  when,  far 
down  the  road,  appeared  two  figures,  walking. 
Mrs.  Stevens  put  up  her  eye-glasses.  The  peo¬ 
ple  drew  nearer. 

“That  looks  like  your  niece,  Mrs.  St.  John  ; 
but  of  course  it  can’t  be,  —  on  foot.” 

“  Hallo  !  ”  cried  little  Clarence,  who  was  walk¬ 
ing  on  the  piazza  railing:  “there’s  Pomp  and 
Leslie.” 

“  It  is  no  such  thing,  sir,”  said  his  mother. 
“Go  to  bed  this  moment.  It  must  be  Mr.  Ca- 
vello.  They  have  had  an  accident,  I  am  sure.” 

Long  seconds  of  waiting  followed. 

Mrs.  Stevens  put  up  her  glasses  again. 

“  It  is  your  niece  and  your  servant,”  she  said. 
“  I  am  afraid  something  has  happened.  But 
don’t  be  anxious,  Mrs.  St.  John.  Miss  Leslie 
is  safe :  she  will  explain  all  to  us.” 

Pomp  came  up  the  side  steps  wearily,  his  arms 
full  of  bundles.  Leslie’s  face  was  pale,  and  the 
traces  of  tears  were  about  her  eyes. 

“  What  is  the  matter  ?  ”  exclaimed  Mrs.  St. 
John.  “  Is  Mr.  Cavello  killed  ?  Tell  me  at 
once.” 

“  Nobody  is  hurt,  Aunt  Marie,”  said  Leslie,  in 
a  strained  voice.  “Will  you  come  to  your  room, 
please  ? ” 


1 82  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK . 


“  Well,”  said  the  ladies  to  each  other,  “  there  is 
something  very  queer  here,  —  going  on  a  drive, 
and  walking  home.  If  she  refused  the  man, 
he  might  at  least  have  brought  her  back.  She 
must  have  expected  him  to-day :  you  know  she 
did  not  want  to  go  with  us.  And  she  came 
from  the  depot,  too.  There  is  something  under 
all  this,  you  may  be  sure.” 

Mrs.  Stevens  put  up-  her  eye-glasses  and 
looked  quizzically  at  the  ladies’  toilettes.  A 
little  laugh  went  round  the  circle.  They  had 
dressed,  weary  as  they  were,  and  had  hurried 
through  tea,  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Leslie  St. 
John  and  old  Pomp  walk  up  the  road. 

One  of  the  young  ladies  burst  into  a  merry 
laugh,  and  it  jarred  on  Mrs.  St.  John’s  ears  as 
it  floated  in  at  her  window. 

“  Well,  Leslie,”  said  she,  sitting  bolt  upright 
on  the  hardest  chair  in  the  room,  “  what  does 
this  mean  ?  Here  I ’ve  ordered  a  hot  supper  for 
you  and  Mr.  Cavello ;  and  there  we  were  sitting, 
waiting  to  see  you  drive  up  in  fine  style,  and,  lo 
and  behold,  you  come  trudging  along  the  country 
road  with  an  old  nigger.  I  don’t  wonder  the 
ladies  are  laughing.  Spiteful  things  !  ” 

“  O  Aunt  Marie,”  said  Leslie,  trembling  so 
that  she  could  not  stand,  “  I  ’ll  tell  you  all  about 
it.”  And  she  recounted  the  day’s  adventure, 
assisted  in  the  last  part  by  Pomp,  who  was  un¬ 
dressing  Clarence  in  the  next  room. 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  1 83 


“  If  it  hadn’t  been  for  Pomp,”  said  Leslie,  “  I 
don’t  know  what  I  should  have  done.” 

“  No,  she  wouldn’t,”  cried  Pomp.  “  When  I 
see  de  Colonel’s  op’ra  cloak  rushin’  froo  de  street, 

I  fought  de  end  ob  de  world  am  come.  I  called 
out  to  him,  an’  I  run  after  him  tell  I  ketched 
him.  Ef  it  hedn’t  ben  for  dat  op’ra  cloak,  I 
s’pecs  by  dis  time  Miss  Leslie  would  hev”  — 

“  Be  still,  Pomp  !  ”  said  Mrs.  St.  John. 

“  I  was  so  frightened,”  continued  Leslie,  “  I 
didn’t  know  where  we  were.” 

“Yer  didn’t?”  said  Pomp,  amazed.  “Why, 
yer  was  in  de  city !  Whar  did  yer  think  yer 
was  r 

“  I  didn’t  know  what  part  of  the  city  we  were 
in  ;  and  oh  !  he  was  so  determined  to  make  me  go 
to  a  priest’s  with  him,  and  get  married.” 

“  Well,  for  my  life,  I  cannot  see  any  thing  so 
wonderful  in  this.  A  gentleman  asks  you  to 
drive,  and  offers  himself.  I ’m  sure  that  was 
very  honorable  in  him,”  said  Mrs.  St.  John, 
sharply.  “  There  are  very  few  rich,  fashionable 
young  men  who  want  to  marry  a  poor  girl  with¬ 
out  a  cent  to  her  name.  I  should  think  you 
were  old  enough  to  know  how  pleased  your  uncle 
would  have  been.  I  don’t  see  how  you  could 
have  refused  such  a  chance.” 

“  I  wish  I  had  married  him,  and  then  thrown 
myself  into  the  sea,”  cried  Leslie,  with  a  flood  of 
tears. 


1 84  THE  COLONEL'S'  OPERA  CLOAK. 


“  Rather  late  in  the  day  to  repent  now,”  said 
Mrs.  St.  John,  sighing.  “I’m  sure  I  am  only 
thinking  of  your  prospects,  Leslie.  Well,  it 
can’t  be  helped  now.  I  only  wish  Mr.  Douglas 
was  as  anxious  to  get  you.  You  wouldn’t  jump 
into  the  sea  then,  I  reckon.” 

Leslie  slipped  away  to  her  room,  and  cried 
herself  to  sleep. 

Mrs.  St.  John  was  very  much  displeased  with 
Pomp:  she  wouldn’t  let  him  unlace  her  boots 
that  night. 

“  I  just  wish,”  said  she,  “  you  would  mind  your 
own  affairs.  What  business  of  yours  was  it,  if 
Miss  Leslie  married  Mr.  Cavello  ?  ” 

“  It  wa’n’t  my  besiness  ef  Miss  Leslie  hed 
married  Massa  Cavello  ;  but  ’twas  my  besiness 
ef  Massa  Cavello  hed  married  Miss  Leslie,”  said 
Pomp,  stoutly.  “  Dis  ain’t  no  way,  —  to  hev 
her  driv’  into  gittin’  married.  Yer  done  suited 
yerself,  Miss  Marie,  ef  yer  didn’t  please  ole 
Massa.” 

“  O  Pomp !  I  should  think  you  would  be 
ashamed  to  speak  so  to  your  poor,  sick  mistress. 
The  Colonel  is  away  amusing  himself,  and  I  am 
left  in  poverty,  with  these  boys  and  a  niece  all 
on  my  hands.”  And  Mrs.  St.  John  put  on  an 
injured  air,  and  wiped  her  eyes,  and  sighed. 

“  Oh,  come,  come  !  ”  said  Pomp,  cheerfully  : 
“dis  isn’t  no  way  to  go  on.  Yer  s  got  free 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK . 


beaucherful  boys,  an’  Miss  Leslie  ;  an’  yer  ’s 
young  an’  harnsome,  an’  de  Colonel  tinks  dere 
ain’t  nobody  else  in  de  world  only  you.  Don’t 
tink  no  more  ’bout  Mr.  Cavello.  He  wa’n’t  de 
one  for  Miss  Leslie.  I  ’se  set  Massa  Tom  off 
for  her.” 

“  Oh,  yes  !  ”  said  Mrs.  St.  John,  despondently. 
“  You  can  set  him  off,  to  the  end  of  time ;  but  I 
don’t  believe  he  wants  to  marry  her.” 

“I  knows  he  does,”  said  Pomp,  confidently. 

“  How  do  you  know  ?  ”  inquired  Mrs.  St. 
John. 

“  I  know  by  de  way  he  looks  at  her  an’ 
acts  wid  her.” 

“  How  does  he  look  and  act  with  her,  Pomp  ?” 

“  Wall,  he  looks  at  her  kind  o’  steddy-like,  an’ 
den  he  looks  at  oder  folks  like  as  ef  he  ’d  say, 
*  Who  yer,  roun’  here,  makin’  b’lieve  yer’r  harn¬ 
some,  ’cause  yer  got  eyes  an’  nose  an’  mouf  ? 
Nobody  ain’t  wuth  lookin’  at  ’cept  jes  Miss 
Leslie.’  An’  when  she  says  suthin,’  ef  ’tain’t  no 
more  dan,  ‘  Whar ’s  my  par’sol  ?  ’  or  ‘  Pass  me  de 
butter,’  he  looks  mighty  pleased,  ’s  ef  she  was  de 
fust  ’oman  dat  ever  spoke  a  word,  an’  he  looks 
roun’  to  see  ef  ev’body  ain’t  list’nin’  an’  a’mirin’ 
of  her.  Oh,  yer  see  if  Massa  Tom  ain’t  down 
here  putty  soon  after  her  !  ” 

After  a  time,  Mrs.  St.  John  allowed  herself  to 
be  comforted,  and  went  to  sleep,  feeling  that  she 


1 86  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


had  done  all  that  could  be  expected  of  her  to¬ 
wards  righting  the  wrongs  of  life. 

Leslie  had  such  a  headache  that  she  did  not 
get  up  to  breakfast. 

Mrs.  St.  John  had  determined  to  put  the  best 
face  on  affairs  ;  and  so  she  dressed  herself  care¬ 
fully,  and  with  a  cheerful  smile  went  down  to  the 
dining-room. 

She  was  not  going  to  have  these  Yankees 
think  that  Leslie  had  been  jilted  ;  but  she  had 
not  decided  whether  to  say  that  Leslie  had  run 
off  with  Mr.  Cavello  and  been  dragged  back  by 
Pomp,  or  that  Mr.  Cavello  had  carried  her  off 
against  her  will,  and  Pomp  had  rescued  her ; 
whether  to  represent  her  as  forsaking  the  love 
of  a  splendid  young  fellow  without  money  for  a 
world-worn  man  who  had  unlimited  wealth,  or  to 
give  her  the  character  of  a  young  and  inexpe¬ 
rienced  girl,  who  had  thrown  away  a  wonderful 
chance  for  the  romance  of  love  and  poverty. 

Before  she  had  fairly  made  up  her  mind  what 
to  say,  Mrs.  Stevens,  whose  delicacy  never  over¬ 
balanced  her  curiosity,  drew  her  chair  up  close  to 
Mrs.  St.  John,  and  asked  how  Miss  Leslie  was, 
and  said  that  they  were  all  so  fond  of  her  that 
they  hoped  nothing  unpleasant  had  occurred. 

“  Oh,  no  !  ”  said  Mrs.  St.  John.  “  It  was  only 
that  old  fool  of  a  Pomp,  who  made  a  great  fuss  out 
of  nothing.”  Then  she  went  on  to  explain,  with 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  187 


a  fine,  easy  flow  of  improvisation,  that  Mr.  Cavello, 
having  heard  of  Mr.  Douglas’s  visit,  had  become 
very  jealous.  So,  after  inviting  Leslie  to  drive, 
he  had  gone  on  until  he  reached  the  city,  and 
had  tried  to  induce  her  to  be  married  that  day, 
so  as  to  secure  her.  But  Leslie,  of  course,  like  all 
girls,  wanted  a  trousseau  and  a  grand  wedding, 
and  had  not  fairly  made  up  her  mind  what  to  do, 
when  Pomp  stumbled  upon  the  party,  and  urged 
Leslie  to  come  home,  and  made  a  sad  picture  of 
how  her  aunt  would  feel,  and  what  her  uncle  would 
say,  until  he  finally  persuaded  her  to  come  back 
with  him ;  and  of  course  Mr.  Cavello  was  very 
angry,  and  told  Leslie  to  choose,  once  for  all. 

“  If  she  is  going  to  marry  him  at  all,  I  ’m  sure  I 
wish  she  had  done  so  yesterday,  —  if  they  wanted 
to  be  romantic.  It  would  have  saved  me  a  world 
of  trouble.  We  shall  have  another  scene  in  a 
day  or  two,  when  Mr.  Cavello  gets  over  his  pique. 
I  hope  he  and  Mr.  Douglas  won’t  meet  in  the 
mean  time. 

“  Poor  old  Pomp  thinks  every  one  in  the  fam¬ 
ily  belongs  to  him  ;  and  he  meddles  and  inter¬ 
feres,  till  I  often  wish  he  had  run  off  with  the 
others  ;  but  he  can’t  be  sent  off,  of  course.” 

Leslie  became  quite  a  sensation.  The  young 
ladies  looked  at  her  with  admiration.  How 
elegant  to  be  run  away  with,  like  a  girl  in  a 
novel ! 


1 88  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


“  I  always  supposed,”  remarked  Miss  Merriam, 
“  that  when  people  ran  away  they  had  post- 
horses  and  a  postilion  in  bottle-green  livery,  with 
pistols,  and  that  the  young  lady’s  head  was  for¬ 
ever  out  of  the  window  to  see  if  her  papa  was  after 
them,  and  that  a  big  brother  was  invariably  in 
hot  pursuit.  I  never  dreamed  that  one  could  be 
so  romantic  with  a  stable-horse  and  a  buggy, 
and  one  old  black  man.” 

The  next  two  days  passed,  without  a  word 
from  Mr.  Cavello.  Mrs.  St.  John  was  vexed. 
It  looked  as  if  he  was  going  to  drop  the  affair. 

The  third  day  brought  a  letter  from  the 
Colonel.  Mrs.  St.  John  read  it  on  the  piazza, 
and,  looking  at  Leslie,  said,  — 

“  I  ’ll  see  you,  for  a  moment,  in  my  room. 
Here  is  something  about  you,  my  young  lady.” 

Of  course  they  all  thought  Mr.  Cavello  was 
trying  to  make  up  with  the  injured  aunt. 

“Well,”  said  Mrs.  St.  John,  rejoining  the 
group  of  ladies  on  the  piazza,  “  do  pity  me. 
Leslie  is  so  changeable  that  I  can’t  do  any 
thing.  I  never  saw  anybody  so  set,  as  they 
say  here.  I  sha’n’t  say  a  word  more.  They 
may  settle  it  for  themselves.” 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK.  189 


CHAPTER  X. 


“  A  WET  spell”  had  come,  as  Uncle  Peter 
■Lx-  said.  It  rained,  day  after  day. 

Mrs.  St.  John  was  indignant. 

This  was  pretty  weather  for  the  sea-shore ! 
She  had  no  thick  dresses  ;  and  so  she  stayed  in 
bed,  with  the  Colonel’s  opera  cloak  about  her. 

Leslie  had  enough  to  do  to  amuse  the  boys. 
She  kept  them  in  the  bowling-alley  as  much  as 
she  could. 

One  day  a  letter  came  from  the  Colonel.  He 
had  some  fine  project  in  hand,  and  wanted  them 
all  to  come  to  him. 

Mrs.  St.  John  sent  for  the  landlord,  and  rep¬ 
rimanded  him  severely  for  bringing  her  there 
under  false  pretences. 

“It’s  just  like  the  middle  of  winter.  You 
live  here  every  year,  and  of  course  you  knew 
about  it.  I  shouldn’t  feel  legally  obliged  to  pay 
you  a  cent  for  the  time  I  have  been  here,  for 
I  came  for  the  warm  sun  and  for  pleasant  sea 
air ;  but  make  out  your  bill,  and  I  ’ll  pay  it  at 


190  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


once.  I  must  go  back  to  town  to-day,  or  I  shall 
be  dead  to-morrow.” 

So  Pomp  and  Leslie  packed  the  trunks.  Poor 
Leslie  !  Her  “  next  time  ”  was  never  to  be  here 
by  the  beautiful  sea,  nor  on  these  lovely  country 
roads. 

They  were  ready  for  the  noon  train.  The 
landlord  was  very  rude.  He  said  that  they  had 
engaged  for  the  summer,  and  were  bound 
to  pay  for  it;  but  Mrs.  St.  John  said,  “Yes, 
for  summer,  not  for  winter.”  She  expected  that 
he  would  have  sleighing  before  long,  if  he  kept 
on  at  this  rate. 

The  poor  man  almost  thought  himself  the 
clerk  of  the  weather,  before  she  left. 

Pomp  had  gone  in  an  earlier  train,  to  open  the 
house  ;  and  Leslie,  who  was  the  guide,  mistook 
the  time,  and  they  had  to  wait  an  hour  at  the 
station. 

Leslie  never  forgot  that  hour.  She  almost 
thought,  from  her  aunt’s  severe  remarks,  that 
she  had  made  it,  and  tacked  it  on  to  the  usual 
twenty-four. 

At  last,  at  dark,  in  a  pouring  rain,  they  reached 
the  house. 

Pomp  had  made  a  fire  in  the  furnace.  Mrs. 
St.  John’s  spirits  rose  as  she  grew  warm. 

“  We  may  as  well  go  to  the  Colonel  at  once,” 
she  said.  “  We  could  start  to-morrow,  if  it 


T}IE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK .  191 


wasn’t  for  our  things  here.  What  shall  we  do 
with  them  ?  We  shall  have  to  auction  them  off, 

I  think.  I ’m  sure  we  have  paid  this  landlord 
enough,  without  giving  him  the  things  we  have , 
bought  ourselves.  But  I  am  afraid  it  will  be  a 
heap  of  trouble  to  have  an  auction.” 

“  Oh,  no,  it  won’t,”  said  Pomp.  “  It  isn’t  never 
no  trouble  to  sell  tings :  it ’s  trouble  to  buy 
’em.  Why,  ef  yer  buy,  yer  has  to  go  out,  an’ 
yer  has  to  spend  yer  money  ;  but,  in  sellin’,  yer 
jes  stays  in  de  house,  an’  gits  money  fur 
tings  yer  doesn’t  want  an’  can’t  kerry  off  wid 
yer,  nohow.” 

“  But  every  thing  is  a  trouble,”  returned  Mrs. 
St.  John.  “  If  it  wasn’t  for  the  heat  it  would 
make  in  the  house,  I ’d  burn  all  our  things  up, 
to  save  the  trouble  of  selling  them.” 

“Yer  couldn’t  burn  de  piano  up,”  said  Pomp. 
“  Yer  couldn’t  git  it  into  de  furnace.” 

“What  an  old  fool  you  are!”  said  Mrs.  St. 
John.  “  Let  us  look  over  the  things,  Leslie,  and 
make  a  list.  Here ’s  the  piano,  and  that  red 
velvet  chair,  and  those  vases,  and  ”  — 

“  And  the  towel-rack,  and  the  foot-rest,  and 
the  slipper-case  I  bought  at  the  church  fair,” 
added  Leslie. 

“  Yes;  and  the  gilt  shaving-stand  the  Colonel 
bought,  the  last  time  he  came  on. 

“  I  suppose,”  she  added,  turning  to  Pomp, 

“  that  there  are  heaps  of  broken  things.” 


192  THE  CO  LONE  HS  OPEL  A  CLOAK. 


“Yes,  missus;  but  all  on  ’em  ain’t  ourn. 
We ’ve  broke  a  good  many  of  de  lan’lord’s. 
We  ain’t  no  right  to  sell  dem,  hev  we  ?  ” 

“  We  ’ll  put  all  our  broken  things  into  barrels, 
and  get  rid  of  them  in  that  way,*’  said  Mrs.  St. 
John. 

“  De  barrels  is  all  done  broke  dereselfs,”  re¬ 
plied  Pomp. 

“Well,  trunks,  then,”  said  Mrs.  St.  John. 
“  Don’t  pick  me  up  so,  Pomp  !  ” 

“  De  trunks  !  Massy  gracious  !  ”  cried  Pomp. 
“Yer  doesn’t  want  to  sell  yer  trunks,  full  o’ 
broken  traps,  and  kerry  yer  clo’es  Souf  in  yer 
han’s,  does  yer  ?  ” 

“We  shall  have  some  on  us,”  said  Mrs.  St. 
John,  with  dignity.  “Very  few  people  travel 
without  clothes  in  this  country,  if  they  do  in 
yours. 

“  But  if  you  won’t  use  trunks,”  she  added, 
“  tie  the  things  up  in  sheets.” 

“  De  sheets  ain’t  ourn :  dey  b’longs  to  de 
house.  Dey  wouldn’t  hold  much,  any  way.  De 
boys  hes  used  ’em  so  much  fur  tents,  an’  hes 
wrastled  so  in  bed,  an’  fired  de  pillers  roun’  so 
free,  dat  de  cases  is  —  well,  yer  kin  git  in  mos’ 
anywhar,  an’  out  mos’  anywhar  too ;  an’  de  fed- 
ders  flies  out  o’  dem  pillers  like  as  ef  yer  was 
shakin’  a  chicken.  Ef  I  was  yer,  Miss  Marie, 
I ’d  leave  dem  broke  tings  fur  de  lan’lord  to 

d>  j) 

ar  up. 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  1 93 


“  So  I  will.  Horrid  old  thing !  It  would 
serve  him  just  right,”  said  Mrs.  St.  John. 

“  Now  look  at  that  ceiling,  Leslie,”  she  added  : 
“did  you  ever  see  any  thing  like  it  ?  ” 

“  The  boys  did  that,”  said  Leslie. 

“Well,”  said  Mrs.  St.  John,  “they  learned  to 
make  them  here.  I  ’m  sure  I  never  heard  of  a 
‘spit-ball  ’  until  I  came  North.  What  a  house 
this  was  to  let  to  a  gentleman’s  family !  We 
have  paid  rent  enough  for  it.  Just  look  at  that 
spot  on  the  sofa.  Ugh  !  it  is  sticky.” 

“  I  reckon  that  was  some  of  our  medicine, 
that  we ’ve  had  round.  That  isn’t  any  thing,” 
said  Clarence. 

“  And  those  lace  curtains  !  What  a  color  !  The 
landlord  will  do  those  up  before  he  lets  the  house 
again,  if  he  has  any  kind  of  decency,  —  which  I 
shouldn’t  judge  he  had,”  said  Mrs.  St.  John. 

“  They  were  fresh  when  we  came,”  said  Leslie. 

“  Of  course  they  were :  he  couldn’t  expect  to 
let  a  house  with  soiled  curtains,  could  he  ?  ” 

“  I  reckon  de  piano  ’ll  fotch  a  heap,”  said 
Tomp,  who  had  been  attentively  listening  to  the 
conversation.  “  We  ought  to  ’tend  to  de  auction 
tings  now.” 

“You  must  rub  up  the  piano,  Pomp,”  said 
Leslie.  “You  know  Clarence  and  Wilfrid  used 
to  spring  on  it  dreadfully,  when  they  ran  round 
the  parlor  over  all  the  furniture.” 

13 


194  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


“  I  wonder  you  would  allow  them  to  act  so, 
Leslie,”  said  Mrs.  St.  John.  “  I  should  no  more 
think  of  jumping  on  a  piano  than  on  a  looking- 
glass.” 

“  I  danced  a  clog-dance  on  it  one  night/’  said 
Clarence  ;  “  and  we  put  paper  inside  of  it,  and 
Arthur  thumped  on  the  keys  like  a  banjo.  Oh, 
it  was  awful  funny  music !  ” 

Pomp  examined  the  piano  critically. 

“  Some  parts  shows  de  boot-heels,  but  it  ain’t  so 
bad  as  it  mought  be,”  said  he,  —  it  took  a  great 
deal  to  surprise  Pomp,  —  “  I  thinks  a  little  grease 
would  put  it  in  putty  good  shape.” 

“All  the  keys  don’t  go,”  said  Clarence. 
“There’s  a  pin  in  one.  I  can  see  it.” 

“You  can  shut  it  down,  for  the  auction,”  said 
his  mother.  “  Oh,  no,  you  can’t,  either.  I  ’ll 
wager  a  good  bit  they  ’ll  want  to  hear  the  tone : 
it  would  be  just  like  these  Yankees.  That  chair 
is  all  right,  isn’t  it  ?  ” 

“Yes,”  said  Leslie.  “The  springs  are  good, 
—  only,  aunty,  I  think  there  are  moths  in  it.” 

“Very  likely.  It  was  bought  North,”  said 
Mrs.  St.  John.  “I  wouldn’t  trust  a  Northerner 
while  I  turned  my  head  round.  It  was  bought 
with  moths  in  it,  if  they  are  there.  We  can’t 
sell  a  chair  better  than  we  buy  it,  of  course. 

“You  can  pin  a  tidy  over  that  stained  place 
on  the  back,  Leslie,  and  it  can  go  with  the 
chair. 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  1 95 


“We  must  put  a  high  price  on  every  thing,” 
she  continued,  “because  I’ve  always  heard  that 
people  insist  on  beating  down,  at  auctions.” 

“  Who ’s  going  to  say,  ‘  Going,  going,  gone  ’  ?  ” 
asked  Clarence. 

“  I  s’pose  I  is,”  said  Pomp.  “  I  does  ’mos* 
ev’ry  ting.” 

“No,”  said  Mrs.  St.  John,  “I  shall  send  for 
a  man  who  makes  a  business  of  it.  If  I  am 
going  to  have  an  auction,  I  ’ll  have  one.” 

Pomp  went  at  once  to  the  grocer,  who  directed 
him  to  an  auctioneer. 

The  man  came  to  look  over  the  house,  and 
was  surprised  to  see  how  little  was  to  be  sold  ; 
but  that  was  none  of  his  business.  He  said  he 
would  set  the  day,  and  then  advertise  it  a  few 
times. 

“Advertise  it!”  exclaimed  Mrs.  St.  John. 
“  What  in  the  world  would  you  advertise  it  for  ? 
You  don’t  suppose  people  are  coming  here  from 
the  four  corners  of  the  earth,  to  buy  a  few  old 
things,  do  you  ?  Besides,  I  am  going  away  day 
after  to-morrow.  I  ’ll  have  the  auction  to-mor¬ 
row.  You’ve  got  a  flag,  haven’t  you?  I  never 
heard  of  an  auctioneer  who  had  not. 

“  But  be  sure,”  she  called  after  him,  “  not  to 
put  up  a  small-pox  flag,  and  make  the  people 
afraid  to  come  in.” 

When  the  flag  was  flung  to  the  breeze,  Mrs. 


10  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


St.  John  seated  herself  at  a  front  window,  to 
inspect  the  people  who  came  up  the  steps. 

When  any  one  appeared  whose  looks  did  not 
please  her,  she  called  to  Pomp  not  to  let  him  in, 
or  to  tell  him  it  wasn’t  time,  and  that  he  would 
better  come  back  day  after  to-morrow ;  adding, 
in  a  low  tone,  “  when  we  shall  be  all  cleared  up 
and  gone.” 

Before  the  auction  began,  Mrs.  St.  John  and 
Leslie  seated  themselves  in  the  back  parlor, 
where  they  could  see  what  was  going  on,  through 
a  crack  between  the  sliding-doors. 

Pomp  stayed  in  the  front  parlor,  where  the 
auction  was  to  take  place,  to  keep  an  eye  on 
things,  and  see  that  the  auctioneer  did  his 
duty. 

Several  of  the  neighbors,  to  whom  the  St. 
Johns  had  afforded  a  great  deal  of  excitement, 
and  who  knew  that  the  house  had  been  let 
furnished,  came  in  to  look  on. 

About  thirty  people  had  assembled  in  the  hall 
and  parlor  at  the  appointed  hour. 

“  Pomp  !  Pomp  !  ”  called  Mrs.  St.  John.  Pomp 
went  to  the  crack,  and  looked  in  with  one  eye. 

“  I  don’t  like  the  looks  of  those  men  over 
there,”  said  the  lady,  in  a  loud  whisper,  loud 
enough  to  be  heard  by  those  standing  near. 
"You  must  keep  a  sharp  eye  on  them.  They 
look  like  Jews.  We  ought  to  have  had  a  po¬ 
liceman  here,  to  watch.” 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  197 


The  people  looked  at  each  other,  and  felt  like 
pickpockets. 

The  auctioneer’s  voice  broke  the  silence. 

“  The  first  thing  offered  for  sale  in  this  elegant 
house  is  a  superb  piano,  for  which  seven  hun¬ 
dred  and  fifty  dollars  was  paid,  six  short  months 

_  }) 
ago- 

“  What  a  whopper  !  ”  said  Clarence.  “  It  only 
cost  three  hundred,  —  the  legs  were  so  scratched 
up. 

“  The  lady  assures  me  that  seven  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  was  its  price,”  said  the  man,  looking 
threateningly  at  the  impudent  boy  who  was  try¬ 
ing  to  ruin  his  sale. 

Leslie  glanced  inquiringly  at  her  aunt. 

“  The  man  said  it  was  marked  at  that  price,  and 
was  worth  it,  —  only  he  let  me  have  it  cheap, 
said  Mrs.  St.  John,  in  answer  to  her  look. 

“  Clarence  !  ”  she  called.  “  Come  into  this  room, 
this  moment.” 

Every  one  turned  toward  the  back  parlor. 

“The  tone  is  equal  to  that  of  a  Steinway,” 
continued  the  auctioneer.  “  I  might  play  ‘  Green¬ 
ville’  myself,  but  I  suppose  some  one  here  can 
display  it  to  better  advantage.” 

No  one  stirred  ;  and  so  he  ran  his  fingers  over 
the  keys,  and  soon  knocked  off  the  instrument 
for  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  —  “  Which  was 
enough  for  the  old  thing,  Mrs.  St.  John  said. 


198  the  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


“  Well,  here  is  a  clock.  Who  will  bid  on  this  ? 
It  is  an  elegant  French^clock, —  runs  a  week.” 

“  It  runs  two,  if  you  run  with  it,”  said  Wilfrid  : 
and  he  and  Arthur  laughed. 

“  Did  we  buy  that,  or  does  it  belong  to  the 
house?”  whispered  Mrs.  St.  John  to  Leslie. 

“  To  the  house,  I  think,”  she  replied.  “  I  wasn’t 
here  at  the  first,  you  know.” 

“  I  ’ll  give  you  five  dollars,”  said  a  man. 

“  Five-fifty,”  said  another. 

“  Six  dollars.” 

Mrs.  St.  John  beckoned  to  Pomp. 

“  Nobody  can’t  buy  dat,”  Pomp  called  out,  in  a 
loud  voice,  “  ’cause  it  doesn’t  b’long  to  us.  We 
forgot.  Dat ’s  de  lan’lord’s  clock.” 

Every  one  laughed. 

“Well,  here,”  said  the  man,  “is  a  towel-rack, 
not  owned  by  the  landlord,  and  worked  by  fair 
fingers,  doubtless.  Some  young  bachelor  would 
find  this  priceless.  Five  dollars  it  is  marked. 
It  is  a  bunch  of  while  lilies  worked  on  a  back¬ 
ground  of  —  of  —  blue.” 

“  Gas-light  green,”  said  a  young  lady  near  him. 

“  On  a  background  of  gas-light  green,”  he 
repeated.  “  It  is  useful  as  well  as  ornamental, 
and  worth  double  its  price.” 

“  I  only  paid  three  for  it,”  whispered  Leslie. 

“  I  knew  they  would  beat  him  down,  and  so  I 
marked  it  five,”  replied  her  aunt,  with  a  business¬ 
like  air. 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  199 


“  One  dollar,”  called  a  voice  from  the  hall. 

“  What  a  mean  man  !”  said  Mrs.  St.  John,  in 
a  loud  whisper,  which  was  heard  in  the  fiont 

parlor. 

«  One  dollar  twenty-five,  —  one-fifty,  —  two 
dollars.” 

“  Gone,  —  at  two  dollars  !  ” 

“  Stingy  enough,  I  am  sure,’  said  Mrs.  St. 

John,  half-aloud. 

“  This  red  velvet  chair  is  in  good  condition. 
Springs  in  order.  Tidy  goes  with  it,  and  gives 
it  a  feminine  and  homelike  air.  As  the  poet 

asks,  — 

‘  What ’s  a  chair  without  a  tidy  ?  ’  ” 

“  It ’s  a  chair,”  giggled  Wilfrid  s  voice  from 
behind  the  door. 

The  people  looked  at  each  other,  and  laughed. 
They  had  never  attended  such  a  sale  before. 
The  auctioneer  was  amused,  too  :  it  seemed  like 
playing  at  auction. 

At  length,  after  various  bids,  the  chair  was 
sold. 

A  vase  was  just  being  carried  off,  when  Mrs. 
St.  John  remembered  that  that  wasn  t  hers. 

“  The  pink  pair  are  mine,  —  on  the  mantel¬ 
piece,”  she  called,  through  the  crack. 

The  woman  who  had  bought  the  large  vase 

was  very  angry. 


200  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK . 


“  Why  do  you  have  an  auction,”  she  asked, 
“  if  you  haven’t  any  thing  to  sell  ?  ” 

“  We  have,”  replied  Mrs.  St.  John,  through  the 
crack. 

Why  don  t  you  sell  it,  then,  and  know  your 
own  mind  ?  ” 

Why  don  t  you  buy  the  things  we  own,  and 
not  the  things  which  belong  to  the  landlord?” 
replied  again  the  invisible  proprietress. 

These  pink  vases,  said  the  auctioneer, 
pointing  to  the  mantel-piece,  “  are  very  rare,  I 
am  told.  The  pictures  on  them  are  gems  of 
arb  shepherd  and  shepherdess,  surrounded  by 
flock,  landscape  in  the  distance.  I  have  never 
seen  a  pair  like  them  before.  I  should  judge 
they  were  Sevres  or  Dresden  china,  only  that 
the  maik  of  seven  dollars  shows  that  they  must 
be  of  less  value.  But  perhaps  their  value  was  not 
known.  At  any  rate,  they  are  very  beautiful, 
and  evidently  a  great  bargain,  such  as  one  meets 
with  only  once  in  a  lifetime.” 

“ 1  didn>t  know  they  were  so  valuable,”  said 
Mrs.  St.  John,  in  a  low  tone,  to  Leslie.  “I 
bought  them  at  a  ninety-nine-cent  store  ;  but,  if 

they  are  such  a  bargain,  I  ’ll  just  keep  them 
myself.” 

The  people  were  beginning  to  bid,  when  Mrs. 
St.  John  called  out,  — 

“  You  need  not  sell  those  vases.  I  think  I  ’ll 
keep  them  myself.” 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  201 


A  laugh  went  around  the  room. 

“  The  slipper-case  and  foot-rest,  —  will  you 
keep  those  too,  Madame  ?  ”  asked  the  auctioneer, 
turning  toward  the  crack. 

“You  can  sell  them,  if  you  get  their  value: 
otherwise,  I  will  keep  them  myself,”  called  out 
the  voice.  “  I  want  ten  dollars  for  the  foot-rest, 
and  seven  for  the  slipper-case.” 

Nobody  bid,  and  the  auctioneer  laid  them 
aside. 

Pomp  came  forth  from  the  back  parlor. 

“  Missus  says  she  don’t  know  as  she  keers  foi 
de  slipper-case,  after  all,  an’  she  ’ll  let  it  go  for 
free  dollars,  ef  somebody  ’ll  buy  de  foot-rest  for 
four.” 

Several  spoke  at  once.  A  laugh  was  raised, 
and  the  articles  were  knocked  down. 

“  Is  this  satin  furniture  for  sale  ?  ”  asked  some 
one  in  the  hall. 

“  No.” 

“  These  draperies  and  mirrors  ?  ” 

“  No,  sir.” 

“  Any  thing  in  the  other  parts  of  the  house  ?  ” 

“  No,  Madame.” 

“  What  is  for  sale  ?  ” 

“  Here  is  a  trunk,  for  one  thing,  —  locked,  — 
key  can’t  be  found,  — sold  on  speculation.” 

“  Two  dollars,”  said  a  second-hand-clothes  man, 
who  looked  like  a  second-hand  man. 

“  Two  seventy-five,”  said  his  neighbor. 


202  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


“  Massy  gracious !”  cried  Pomp,  “  don’t  bid  no 
more  !  I  done  forgot  till  dis  blessed  minute  dat 
dat  ar  trunk  was  Massa  Cavello’s.  I  ’spect  dar 
ain’t  much  in  it,  or  he ’d  ha’  sent  fur  it.  Any 
how,  dat  ain’t  ourn,  an’  we  ain’t  got  no  right  to 
sell  it.  I  ’ll  fin’  out  whar  his  club  is,  an’  sen’  it 
to  him,  though  he  don’t  desarve  to  git  it.” 

“  This  gilt  shaving-stand,”  resumed  the  auc¬ 
tioneer,  after  Pomp’s  episode,  as  he  moved  aside 
the  trunk,  “  will  go  at  a  good  bargain.  In  the 
morning,  when  the  light  is  perhaps  rather  dim, 
or  at  eve,  when  the  bureau-glass  does  not  catch 
a  good  light,  this  small  stand  can  be  easily 
moved  about,  and  afford  comfort  to  the  man 
who  would  otherwise  appear  to  his  friends  with 
black  court-plaster  covering  ghastly  wounds, 
made  not  by  ‘  the  envious  Casca,’  but  by  his  own 
hand.” 

A  slight  young  man,  who  had  the  air  of  a 
piano-tuner,  and  who  had  bid  off  the  piano, 
attracted  the  eye  of  the  auctioneer.  He  had 
light  hair,  smooth  cheeks,  and  a  thin  mustache. 

“  Here,  young  man,  it  would  serve  your  pur¬ 
pose  well  !  Shall  I  look  to  you  for  a  bid  ?  ” 

“You’d  better  help  him  get  more  hair:  he 
can’t  raise  what  he  wants  now,”  cried  Wilfrid, 
from  behind  the  hall-door. 

The  young  man  wanted  to  kill  him. 

At  last,  the  shaving-stand  was  disposed  of. 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  203 


“  Here  is  a  boy’s  jacket,  with  a  jack-knife  in 
the  pocket,  and  a  few  marbles.” 

The  auctioneer  could  not  help  laughing  :  it 
seemed  so  absurd  to  sell  one  old  jacket,  in  this 
elegant  house. 

At  the  words  “jack-knife”  and  “marbles,” 
Clarence  rushed  into  the  parlor,  and  when  he 
beheld  the  jacket  he  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

“  Give  me  that  jacket,  you  old  fool !  ”  said  he. 
“  Those  are  the  things  I  gave  Jasper  when  he 
was  sick,  and  he  ’s  dead  now.  I  tell  you,  give  it 
to  me.  It’s  his  jacket !  ” 

“  Oh,  yes,”  said  Pomp,  the  tears  running  down 
his  cheeks  :  “  dat  don’t  go.  I  dunno  whar  dat 
ar’  jacket  come  from  now.  Dat  war  what  my 
poor  little  gran’son  hed  on  to  him  when  he  died, 
a-lyin’  on  dat  very  red  satin  soffy.  No,  no  :  we 
can’t  sell  little  dead  boys’  clo’es  !  Miss  Marie 
ain’t  so  pore  as  dat  yit.” 

Two  ladies  got  up  hastily  from  the  sofa :  one 
of  them  had  to  stop  to  pull  away  her  sash-fringes 
which  adhered  to  the  cover. 

The  auctioneer  handed  the  jacket  to  Pomp, 
hardly  knowing  whether  to  swear  or  laugh. 

“  Well,”  said  he,  “  we  will  try  once  more,  hop¬ 
ing  that  the  party  to  whom  this  belongs  is  in 
fine  health  and  spirits,  and  willing  to  part  with 
his  clothes.” 

“  Here  is  a  fine  cloak,  —  a  military  cloak,  I 
should  say.  It  is  of  fine  ”  — 


204  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK . 


“  Oh  !  Nobody  mustn’t  make  no  bid  on  dat,’ 
called  Pomp,  in  a  loud  voice.  “  Dat  can’t  be  sold, 
nohow :  dat  b’longs  to  de  Colonel,  an’  wa’n’t 
never  meant  to  be  sold.  Massy  gracious  !  Why, 
don’t  you  know  !  Dat ’s  de  Colonel’s  op’ra  cloak, 
—  Colonel  St.  John’s.” 

“  No,  don’t  sell  that !  ”  cried  Mrs.  St.  John, 
through  the  crack.  “  Of  course  that  can’t  be 
sold  :  anybody  might  have  known  that.  We 
are  not  second-hand-clothes  men.” 

“  What  did  you  put  it  here  for,  if  it  wasn’t 
to  be  sold  ?  ”  asked  the  auctioneer,  in  a  little 
temper. 

“  I  didn’t  put  it  dar,”  said  Pomp.  “  It  hed  to 
be  somewhar  or  ’noder,  didn’t  it  ?  I  don’t  ’spect 
yer  to  sell  yer  own  clo’es,  jes’  ’cause  dey  happens 
to  be  in  dis  house.” 

“  I  vouldn’t  puy  dat  gloak,  if  dare  vant  notin’ 
more  to  puy  in  de  vorld,”  said  the  little  Jew  to 
his  friend.  “  Dat  gloak  gum  near  to  geddin’  me 
inder  drouble.  I  dought  de  devil  vas  in  him  dat 
night.” 

“  But  he  vas  a  goot  gloak,”  said  his  friend, 
regretfully,  looking  after  it.  “  And  de  leedle 
goat,  —  das  vas  a  goot  leedle  goat.  I  likes  to  puy 
gloes  mit  bockets  in  ’em.  I  finds  dings  in  de 
bockets,  somedimes.” 

The  little  Jew  looked  admiringly  at  his  friend  : 
he  had  learned  a  new  point  in  business. 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK .  20 5 


“  Well,  is  there  any  thing  else  to  be  sold  ?  ” 
asked  the  auctioneer. 

“No,”  said  Pomp.  “  Yer  hev  sold  all  dere  is 
and  more  ’n  dere  is.” 

“  And  now  I  hope  you  are  satisfied,”  said  Mrs. 
St.  John,  in  a  low  voice.  “That  man  is  a  mono 
maniac,  Leslie.  He  wants  to  sell  every  thing  he 
can  lay  his  hands  on.” 

The  people  were  soon  gone,  and  Mrs.  St.  John 
proceeded  to  settle  with  the  auctioneer. 

“  How  much  do  you  ask  for  selling  these 
things  ?  Not  much,  of  course,  for  they  were 
my  own  things.” 

“Well,  five  dollars  will  satisfy  me,”  said  the 
man. 

“I  should  think  it  might!  You  hadn’t  rent 
to  pay,  or  any  thing  that  other  people  have  to 
spend  money  for.  Yours  must  be  a  very  paying 
business,”  she  said. 

Sinking  into  an  easy-chair,  after  the  auctioneer 
was  gone,  she  cried  :  “  I  declare,  I  am  almost 
tired  to  death.  I  was  never  so  sick  of  anybody 
in  my  life  as  I  was  of  that  auctioneer.  I  thought 
he  never  would  get  off  till  he  had  sold  every  one 
of  us  ;  and  you  Id  think,  to  hear  him  go  on  about 
things,  that  he  owned  them  all.  I  pity  his  wife, 
if  his  tongue  runs  that  way  all  the  time.” 

“  It  makes  yer  feel  kind  o’  solemn  too,  doesn’t 
it,”  said  Pomp,  “  to  see  tings  go  out  o’  de  house 


20 6  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


yer  ’s  used  to  seein’  in  it,  —  kind  o’  like  a  fune¬ 
real.  I  wanted  to  grab  dem  men  by  de  ha’r,  when 
dey  kerried  off  our  pianner.” 

“  It  would  have  been  a  pretty  sight,”  said  Mrs. 
St.  John,  “  to  have  had  the  police  in.  Dear, 
dear,  dear !  How  can  the  Colonel  leave  all  this 
care  on  me  ?  ” 

“Pomp,”  she  added,  “you  count  out  the  rent, 
and  put  it  into  an  envelope,  and  send  it  to  the 
landlord  the  morning  we  go  away ;  for,  if  he 
knows  we  are  going,  he  ’ll  be  looking  about  and 
asking  impertinent  questions.  When  he  does 
get  here,  he  ’ll  find  his  house  all  ready  to  move 
right  into  ;  and  we  shall  be  out  of  his  way,  and 
give  him  no  trouble  whatever.” 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  207 


CHAPTER  XI. 


HE  day  after  their  arrival  in  town,  Leslie 


had  sent  Arthur  to  the  Doctor’s.  She 
longed  to  find  out,  if  possible,  whether  Mr.  Ca- 
vello  had  told  the  truth  about  Tom.  She  could 
not  believe  it,  when  she  remembered  his  manner 
towards  her,  and  the  tones  of  his  voice.  She  was 
so  sincere  herself  that  it  was  hard  for  her  to 
believe  that  others  were  not  so.  Arthur  had  re¬ 
turned  with  the  melancholy  news  that  the  family 
had  all  gone  to  the  mountains. 

How  crookedly  things  do  go  sometimes  !  Oh, 
how  could  she  go  away  without  thanking  Mrs. 
Douglas  for  her  kindness,  and  Bessie,  and  the 
Doctor,  and  Tom !  How  could  she  go,'  and 
never  say  “  Good-by  ”  to  him  ! 

Poor  little  Leslie !  There  had  been  dull  days 
and  tiresome  days,  and  the  tears  had  found  their 
way  often  and  easily  to  her  eyes  ;  but  there  had 
never  been  a  cut  like  this  !  She  cried  herself  to 
sleep  that  night. 

She  sent  Pomp  to  the  Doctor’s  to  ask  when 


208  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


the  family  would  return.  The  Doctor  was  at 
home,  and  said  he  thought  they  would  be  back 
in  a  week. 

A  week !  A  year  would  be  no  worse.  She 
could  not  tell  them  where  she  was  going,  for 
her  uncle  had  only  designated  a  railway  junc¬ 
tion,  where  he  was  to  meet  them  ;  and  she  did  not 
know  how  to  leave  any  address,  nor  did  her 
aunt. 

Mrs.  St.  John  had  lost  her  interest  in  Tom, 
since  he  had  failed  to  do  his  duty  while  at  the 
sea-shore. 

“  I  ’m  sure  he  was  near  enough  to  it.  Any¬ 
body  with  half  an  eye  could  see  that !  Why 
didn’t  you  bring  him  to  the  point  ?  ”  she  asked. 

“  I  couldn’t  do  such  a  thing,”  said  Leslie,  with 
the  tears  in  her  eyes.  “  I  don’t  know  how.”  And 
she  added,  with  spirit :  “  I  wouldn’t  if  I  could. 
If  he  cared  any  thing  for  me,  he  could  have  told 
me  :  if  he  didn’t,  I  wouldn’t  have  had  him  say 
so,  if  I  could  have  made  him  !  ” 

“All  very  fine,”  said  Mrs.  St.  John,  —  “very 
fine,  indeed! — especially  in  a  poor  girl  fed  and 
clothed  by  her  relations,  who  are  starving  them¬ 
selves  to  do  it,  —  taking  the  very  bread  out  of 
their  mouths,  as  it  were. 

“  You  never  mean  to  marry,  I  suppose.  You 
sent  Mr.  Cavello  away,  you  little  goose !  ” 

“  And  would  you  really  like  me  to  marry  Mr. 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK .  209 


Cavello,”  said  Leslie:  “a  man  nobody  knows 
any  tning  about,  and  whom  I  hate  ?  Oh,  why 
did  you  never  have  me  learn  to  do  something, 
so  that  I  could  sew,  or  sweep,  or  teach  school, 
to  earn  my  own  living  ?  I  would  a  thousand, 
thousand  times  rather  do  any  thing,  than  to  stay 
here,  when  you  don’t  want  me !  ” 

Leslie  did  not  wait  until  night  to  cry,  this 
time. 

Pomp  was  quite  in  despair  at  the  unfortunate 
turn  affairs  were  taking. 

“  Now,  chile,”  said  he,  patting  her  pretty  head, 
which  was  buried  in  her  pillow,  “  don’t  yer  min’ 
what  Miss  Marie  says.  She  don’  mean  nothin’. 
She ’s  kind  o’  cross  dis  mornin’.  She  frowed 
her  shoe  at  me  dis  vary  day.  She  didn’t  hurt 
me  none,  but  I  hollered,  an’  put  my  harnd  up  to 
my  eye  ;  an’  den  she  was  skeert,  an’  said  she  didn’t 
mean  to  ;  an’  I  keeps  it  kind  o’  shet  up,  when 
I  goes  into  her  room,  so ’s  to  keep  her  skeert.” 

“  O  Pomp,”  said  Leslie,  with  a.  smothered 
voice,  “it  isn’t  that.  I  don’t  mind  her  much.” 

“I  knows  all  ’bout  it,”  said  Pomp.  “An’ 
don’t  yer  be  afeerd.  When  we  gits  all  settled, 
yer  kin  write  to  Miss  Bessie,  an’  tell  her  whar 
yer  is,  an’  yer  ’ll  hear  putty  soon.” 

“  Oh,  I  shall  never  see  them  again,”  said  Les¬ 
lie,  —  “  never  again.  And  I  can’t  thank  them  for 
being  so  kind  to  me.  They ’ve  been  kinder  than 

14 


210 


THE  COLONEL'’ S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


anybody  but  you,  Pomp.  Ob,  dear  !  Oh,  dear  ! 
I  shall  never  see  them  again  !  ” 

Pomp  brought  some  cologne,  and  bathed  her 
aching  head,  saying,  — 

“  Dar,  now  !  dar,  now  !  Don’t  yer  cry  no  mo’. 
Yer  jes’  go  to  sleep,  an’  who  kin  tell  what’ll 
happen  when  yer  wakes  up  ?  ” 

Nothing  pleasant  happened,  however.  Thurs¬ 
day  came,  and  the  house  was  closed. 

It  was  several  weeks  before  the  family  were 
settled.  They  boarded  in  one  country  place  and 
in  another  ;  they  went  away  from  one  city  :  they 
went  to  another. 

Finally,  Mrs.  St.  John  took  to  her  bed,  —  it  was 
her  weapon  of  defence,  —  and  announced  that 
she  should  not  move  from  that  town  until  fall : 
she ’d  been  whisked  about  enough. 

That  day,  thinking  that  they  seemed  to  be  set¬ 
tled  for  a  fortnight,  at  least,  poor  Leslie  wrote  a 
letter  to  Bessie.  She  looked  out  every  single 
word  in  the  dictionary,  even  the  thes  and  the  ofs. 

“  We  are  staying  at  - ,”  wrote  Leslie, 

“  and  shall  be  here  for  two  weeks.  After  that, 
uncle  will  take  us  to  the  country.  He  has  some 
business  there  which  is  very  important,  and 
which  he  wants  to  look  after  himself. 

“  I  wish  you  would  answer  me  before  we  go 
there.  I  want  to  hear  from  you.  I  was  so  sorry 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


21 1 


not  to  bid  you  good-by  and  thank  you  for  all 
your  kindness.  I  shall  never  forget  it.  Give 
my  love  to  your  mother,  and  my  kind  regards  to 
all  the  rest  of  your  family.” 

How  she  wanted  to  ask  where  Tom  was  : 
what  he  was  doing,  saying,  thinking  ;  how  he 
was  looking ;  if  he  was  well ;  if  he  remembered 
her. 

“  Oh  !  ”  sighed  she,  “  if  the  things  I ’ve  thought 
on  to  this  paper  could  be  read,  what  in  the  world 
would  they  think  of  me  ?  ” 

Leslie  gave  the  letter  to  her  uncle  to  post. 
And  there  in  his  deep  pocket  it  rested  for  many 
a  day,  while  the  girl  watched  and  hoped  and 
longed  for  an  answer.  Every  step  by  the  door, 
every  knock,  made  her  heart  beat. 

The  two  weeks  went  by,  and  no  letter  came. 
She  had  thought  just  for  a  second,  time  and  time 
again,  that  Tom  really  liked  her.  But  now  she 
saw  he  had  only  meant  to  be  kind  and  pleasant. 
Oh,  how  she  wished  he  had  been  cold  and  dis¬ 
tant  and  cross,  and  had  never  made  her  think  — 
although  he  had  never  tried  to  make  her  think 
—  that  he  was  fond  of  her.  That  she  was  sure 
of.  No,  he  never  would  do  so  cruel  a  thing  as 
that.  Of  course,  anybody  would  like  Miss  Hen¬ 
derson  best.  Oh,  dear  !  Oh,  dear  ! 

Then  Leslie  made  up  her  mind  that  she  would 
never  think  of  Tom  again,  never  once.  Only, 


212  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


when  she  said  her  simple  prayer  at  night,  she 
would  ask  God  to  make  him  happy  always,  even 
if  she  must  be  unhappy. 

The  Doctor,  whose  head  had  little  room  for 
the  St.  Johns  and  their  affairs,  forgot  to  speak 
of  their  departure  until  Tom,  on  his  return,  said 
that  he  had  half  a  mind  to  run  down  to  the  sea¬ 
shore,  to  call  on  the  opera  cloak. 

“  Let  me  see,”  said  the  Doctor.  “  Pomp  came 
here  one  day  to  say  they  were  all  going  away, 
somewhere.  I  forget  where,  if  he  told  me.  I 
don’t  know  whether  they  all  went  or  not.” 

Tom  walked  to  Margrave  Street  before  going 
to  his  office.  The  house  was  empty  ;  the  furni¬ 
ture  was  gone ;  paperer  and  painter  were  hard  at 
work.  Leslie  had  vanished,  as  utterly  as  if  she 
were  dead. 

Tom  wrote  to  the  Elden  House,  to  learn  the 
St.  Johns’  address.  The  landlord  did  not  ' know 
where  they  had  gone. 

Tom  wondered  why  Leslie  did  not  write. 
She  could  write  to  Bessie,  surely;  and  she  must 
know  that  he  could  not  guess  what  part  of  the 
earth  she  had  flown  to,  unless  she  told  him. 

He  was  hurt  through  and  through.  Perhaps 
Mrs.  St.  John  had  whisked  the  girl  off,  to  marry 
her  to  some  old  sinner  with  plenty  of  money. 
And  he  had  meant  to  have  a  square  talk  with 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK . 


213 


hei,  the  next  time  he  went  down,  in  spite  of 
everybody  and  every  thing.  He  would  have  done 
so  that  time,  except  for  the  opera  cloak.  He  had 
never  dreamed  that  the  whole  family  could  fly 
off,  like  a  flock  of  birds,  without  warning.  He 
had  no  need  to  wait  until  business  came  in  to 
marry,  thank  fortune,  if  Leslie  had  wanted  him. 
And  he  felt  almost  sure  she  did.  He  had  a  snug 
little  property  which  his  grandmother  had  left 
him.  Well,  what  good  was  it  now  ?  He  did  not 
know  where  on  earth  to  look  for  the  girl. 

He  went  to  see  the  landlord  of  the  city  house. 
He  did  not  know  where  they  had  gone :  he  only 
wished  he  did.  His  elegant  furniture  was  all 
ruined:  he  believed  they  kept  a  riding-school 
there.  He  took  Tom  for  a  fellow-sufferer. 

So  the  summer  passed  away,  and  the  pleasant 
days  of  September  and  October.  The  Doctors 
family  had  nearly  lost  their  interest  in  the  St. 
Johns.  Once  in  a  while  Pomp  or  his  mistress 
was  quoted,  or  the  opera  cloak  was  referred  to. 

One  evening  Tom  went  to  Mrs.  Ackerman’s, 
and  told  her  about  the  matter. 

Don  t  despair,  said  she,  looking  at  her  hus¬ 
band,  who  was  working  away  at  the  other  end 
of  the  room.  “Every  thing  will  come  right,  if 
you  care  enough  about  her  to  wait  and  look,  and 
not  fall  in  love  with  some  other  pretty  girl. 


214  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


John  and  I  had  a  long  hard  time,  but  we  feel 
surer  of  each  other  than  many  who  slip  easily 
into  love  and  marriage.” 

“  I  have  done  all  I  can,”  said  Tom,  “  and  that ’s 
very  little.  I  think  she  didn’t  care  a  cent  for 
me,  or  she  would  have  written  to  my  sister.” 

“  Oh,  a  thousand  things  may  have  happened. 
A  letter  may  have  been  lost,  —  just  think  how 
many  are  lost,  to  keep  up  that  great  place  at 
Washington! — and  she  may  be  waiting  to  hear 
from  you.” 

'*  I  have  thought,”  said  Tom,  “  that  perhaps 
her  aunt  has  married  her  off,  and  so  hustled  her 
out  of  my  way ;  for  I  think  she  would  have  come 
to  like  me,  if  she  had  stayed  here,  and  no  other 
fellow  had  been  in  the  way.” 

“Come  to  like  you!”  said  Mrs.  Ackerman, 
laughing.  “  Why,  my  dear  boy,  it  was  as  plain 
as  daylight  that  she  had  no  eyes  but  for  you.  I 
never  saw  a  face  speak  more  plainly.  She  was  a 
dear  little  girl,  sweet  and  sincere.  And  yet  she 
had  a  look  about  her  pretty  mouth  which  makes 
me  think  that  Aunt  St.  John  could  not  marry 
her  off  against  her  will.” 

“  I’ll  tell  you  what  I  ’ll  do,”  said  Tom.  “  I  ’ll 
*un  on  to  the  place  where  I  last  heard  of  the 
Colonel.  Perhaps  I  can  track  him  at  one  of 
the  hotels :  although  I  shouldn’t  be  surprised  if 
the  family  were  living  in  Egypt,  or  had  settled 


THE  CO  LONE  HS  OP  EE  A  CLOAK.  21$ 


at  the  South  pole.  They  seem  to  own  the  magic 
carpet,  and  travel  at  will.” 

“  I  would  go,”  said  Mrs.  Ackerman  ;  “  and,  per¬ 
haps  when  you  see  your  little  lady-love,  you  ’ll  find 
that  the  golden  halo  has  disappeared,  and  you  ’ll 
wonder  why  you  ever  took  a  fancy  to  her.  And 
you  ’ll  at  least  get  cured,  if  you  don’t  come  home 
engaged.” 

“Get  cured!”  said  Tom.  “  Thunder,  I  don’t 
want  to  get  cured !  I  don’t  believe  you  know 
what  it ’s  like.” 

“  Do  I  not  ?  ”  said  Mrs.  Ackerman,  smiling, 
and  raising  her  eyebrows.  She  liked  Tom  for 
his  pet.  She  liked  to  see  him  earnest  and  de¬ 
termined. 

“  She  has  never  lived  among  people,”  said  Tom, 
fearful  lest  the  conversation  should  turn  from 
Leslie :  “  she  has  never  lived  among  people  who 
knew  any  thing.  But  I  lent  her  some  books,  and 
she  got  hold  of  the  good  points  at  once.  She 
wdnts  to  learn  every  thing.” 

“The  child  has  been  neglected,  that  is  very 
evident,”  said  Mrs.  Ackerman  ;  “but  your  mother 
and  Bessie  would  soon  set  her  in  order,  and  I  ’ll 
take  her  under  my  wing,  if  she  ’ll  be  taken.  We 
are  going  abroad  next  year.  What  a  very  nice 
thing  it  would  be,  if  you  would  join  us  !  It  would 
be  the  best  thing  in  the  world  for  your  little 
girl.” 


216  THE  CO  LONE HS  OPERA  CLOAK. 


“  Go  on,”  said  Tom.  “  Say  more,  tell  me  I  ’m  en¬ 
gaged  to  her,  tell  me  I  ’m  married  to  her,  tell  me 
I ’m  abroad.  I  will  believe  it  all,  —  you  have  such 
a  way  of  putting  things.  Come,  bring  Leslie 
out, —  I  know  she  ’s  behind  your  screen.” 

“  I  wish  she  were,”  said  Mrs.  Ackerman,  laugh¬ 
ing.  “  Stay  to  tea,  Tom,  and  then  go  home 
early.  Start  on  your  trip  to-morrow,  and  write 
me  when  you  find  your  bonnie  Leslie.” 

Mrs.  Douglas  was  very  suspicious  and  very 
anxious  when  Tom  said  he  was  going  to  take  a 
little  trip  ;  but  she  did  not  say  a  word,  for  fear  of 
putting  something  into  his  head  which  might 
not  be  there.  It  was  true,  as  Tom  said  :  he 
needed  a  change.  He  had  been  very  cross 
lately :  his  mother  said  he  had  been  nervous. 

Tom  felt  as  if  he  had  been  hardly  used.  His 
friends,  when  they  were  in  his  place,  had  smooth 
enough  sailing.  They  knew  the  street  and  num¬ 
ber  where  the  sweetheart  lived  ;  and  the  very 
name  was  on  the  door  ;  and  there  was  a  bell  that 
would  ring,  and  a  person  to  answer  it ;  and 
there  was  a  parlor,  and  the  young  lady  was  in  it. 

Alas  !  his  little  girl  was  on  Greenland’s  icy 
mountains  or  India’s  coral  strand,  for  all  he  knew. 
All  the  bells  in  creation  would  not  bring  her  in 
sight. 

Bessie  packed  7  om’s  clothes,  and  told  him,  if 
he  met  the  opera  cloak,  to  commend  her  to  it. 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK.  21 7 


In  a  search  after  truth,  or  any  thing  else,  it  is 
a  comfort  to  have  a  definite  point  to  aim  at. 
Tom  had  one. 

He  went  to  all  the  hotels.  The  St.  Johns  had 
been  at  them  all,  at  one  time  or  another.  He 
went  to  the  clubs.  The  Colonel  had  always 
“just  gone  out.”  It  seemed  as  if  he  was  trying 
to  elude  Tom,  for  he  was  evidently  in  the  city. 

I  think  myself  that  the  waiters  and  servants 
were  in  league  with  the  free,  genial,  fee-bestow¬ 
ing  Colonel,  and  thought  to  rescue  him  from 
this  leech-like  creditor;  and  part  of  the  time 
the  Colonel  really  was  out  of  town. 

Tom  had  been  looking  about  for  a  week.  One 
day  he  was  straggling  along  the  street,  very 
much  discouraged,  when  he  came  upon  a  group 
of  gentlemen.  They  were  listening  to  one  of  the 
number,  —  a  tall,  stout  man,  with  a  slouched  hat, 
—  who  was  speaking  very  earnestly  and  gesticu¬ 
lating  with  fervor. 

Tom’s  eye  was  caught.  What  was  that  he 
saw  before  him  !  A  blue  cape,  lined  with  red, 
flapping  in  the  breeze.  There  were  gilt  clasps 
at  the  neck.  Tom  was  about  to  embrace  it  and 
water  it  with  his  tears,  when  it  occurred  to  him 
there  might  be  other  blue  cloaks  in  the  world. 
But  he  boldly  approached  the  wearer. 

“  Is  this  Colonel  St.  John  ?  ” 

The  gentleman  turned  and  eyed  him. 


2l8  THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK. 


“  I  am  Colonel  St.  John,  sir  !  ” 

“  My  name  is  Douglas,”  said  Tom.  “  I ’ve 
been  trying  to  hunt  you  up  for  a  week,  to  find 
where  your  family  are  now.  They  lived  near  us 
last  winter,  and  I  thought  I  would  call,  if  they 
were  in  town.” 

“  Douglas  !  Douglas  !  ”  Where  had  the  Colonel 
heard  the  name  ?  The  young  man  was  well 
dressed,  and  a  gentleman,  —  that  was  evident. 
Perhaps  he  would  buy  lead-stock. 

The  Colonel  shook  hands  with  Tom. 

“  My  family  are  in  town,”  he  said,  “  for  a  little 
time.  We  are  for  a  few  days  at  the  Lagrange 
House.  They  ’ll  be  glad  to  see  you.  Dine  with 
us  to-night  at  six.” 

Tom  did  not  ask  after  Leslie.  He  could  not 
trust  his  voice. 

He  bade  the  Colonel  good-by.  He  wanted  to 
give  him  his  purse  ;  he  wanted  to  kiss  him  ;  he 
thought  him  a  ministering  angel. 

He  hurried  to  the  hotel,  and  met  Leslie  face 
to  face  at  the  parlor  door. 

The  moment  they  met,  Tom  knew  it  was  all 
right  ;  and  Leslie  knew  it,  too. 

“  I  am  staying  in  the  city  for  a  few  days,” 
said  Tom  ;  “  and  I  came  across  the  Colonel,  and 
found  where  you  were. 

“  Well,”  he  went  on,  looking  at  her  with  his 
“smiling  eyes.”  as  Leslie  called  them,  “I  guess  I 


THE  COLONEL  S  OPERA  CLOAK.  219 


won’t  lie !  I  came  here  to  hunt  you  up,  and  now 
I  ve  found  you.  Are  you  a  bit  glad  to  see  me  ?  ” 

“  Yes,  if  you  want  me  to  be,”  said  Leslie,  half- 
crying,  half-laughing. 

“  Is  there  no  other  fellow  ?  ”  asked  Tom. 

“  No,”  said  Leslie,  shaking  her  head  :  “  nobody 
but  Pomp.  Where  is  Miss  Henderson  ?  ” 

“  I  don’t  know,  and  I  don’t  care,  —  do  you  ?  ” 

“  No,”  said  Leslie,  “  if  you  don’t.” 

“  Come  back  with  me  and  see  her,”  said  Tom. 
"  Will  you,  Leslie  ?  ” 

“  I  ’ll  tell  Aunt  Marie  you  are  here.”  And  the 
girl  rushed  up  to  her  own  room,  and  threw  her¬ 
self  on  her  bed,  and  hid  her  face  in  the  pillow. 

“  He’s  come  !  he’s  come  !  ”  she  whispered. 

She  saw  that  her  eyes  were  shining,  as  she 
smoothed  her  hair,  and  that  her  cheeks  were 
flushed.  She  was  glad  she  was  pretty. 

She  went  into  her  aunt’s  room. 

“  Aunt  Marie,  Mr.  Douglas  has  come.” 

“  The  Doctor  ?  ”  asked  Mrs.  St.  John,  starting 
up,  “  or  his  son  ?  ” 

“  His  son.” 

“  Have  you  seen  him  ?  Has  he  offered  him¬ 
self  to  you  ?  ” 

“  Yes, —  I  don’t  know,”  said  Leslie. 

“Don’t  know?”  said  Mrs.  St.  John,  crossly. 
“  I  reckon  you  would  know,  if  he  had !  What 
did  he  say  ?  ” 


220  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


“  He  said  he  had  come  on  purpose  to  hunt  me 
up;  and  he  asked  me  if  I  would  go  back  with 
him  to  see  Miss  Henderson.”  Leslie  was  a 
little  confused. 

Mrs.  St.  John  sank  back  upon  the  lounge. 

“  Did  you  say  you  would  ?  ” 

“  I  didn’t  say  any  thing,”  said  Leslie.  “  I  ran 
away.” 

“I  believe  you  are  a  natural  fool,”  said  her 
aunt.  “  Give  me  that  dress  on  the  chair.  I  ’ll 
be  down  in  a  minute.” 

Mrs.  St.  John  was  going  to  have  no  nonsense 
this  time.  But  there  was  no  need  of  her  assist¬ 
ance.  Tom  came  to  meet  her,  and  took  both 
her  hands  in  his. 

“  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,”  he  said.  “  Has 
Leslie  told  you  I  came  to  take  her  back  with 
me,  if  she ’d  go  ?  Do  you  think  she  will  ?  ” 

The  idea  of  taking  her  back  had  never  entered 
his  head,  before  the  words  said  themselves. 

Mrs.  St.  John’s  heart  lightened.  This  was 
plain  talking :  there  was  no  need  of  beating  the 
bush. 

“I  don’t  know,”  she  said,  as  if  she  had  many 
minds  on  the  subject.  “  A  great  many  men 
have  wanted  Leslie.  1  here  was  one  rich 
Cuban, —  oh,  you  know  Mr.  Cavello,  —  and 
there  are  a  great  many  others.  I ’ve  thought 
Leslie  would  make  a  great  match.” 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAK . 


221 


“  I  have  enough  money,”  said  Tom,  “for  two 
of  us.  Did  you  know  I  had  a  little  fortune  of 
my  own  ?  I  wish  it  was  a  thousand  times  more, 
for  Leslie’s  sake.” 

This  was  pleasant.  Mrs.  St.  John  thawed. 

“  Leslie  likes  you  better  than  any  of  the  others. 
She  confessed  it  before  we  left  that  cold  place 
where  you  live.  So,  money  or  no  money,  I 
must  let  her  go,  I  suppose.” 

Tom  wrote  home  that  night  that  he  had 
found  the  St.  Johns,  and  was  engaged  to  Leslie, 
and  that  he  would  be  married  in  a  week,  and  bring 
her  back.  He  was  not  going  to  let 'her  slip  away 
again.  She  was  so  good  that  he  knew  they 
would  be  delighted  with  her ;  and  she  could 
hardly  wait  to  see  his  mother. 

He  wrote  to  Mrs.  Ackerman  :  — 

“  ‘  I ’ve  chased  the  antelope  over  the  plain,’  — 

that ’s  Leslie  ; 

*  The  tiger’s  cub  I ’ve  bound  with  a  chain,’  — 

that ’s  her  aunt  ; 

‘And  the  young  gazelle  with  his  silvery  feet 
I  T1  bind  for  thee  for  a  playmate  sweet,’  — 

that ’s  myself. 

“  I ’m  going  to  bring  Leslie  home  with  me,  and 
make  sure  of  her.  I  expect  I  shall  have  a 
strong-minded  woman  on  my  hands  yet.  She 
says  she ’s  going  to  learn  every  thing. 


222  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


“  Thank  you  a  thousand  times  for  your  kind¬ 
ness.  Leslie  sends  her  love.” 

Pomp  and  the  boys  were  delighted  to  see  Tom. 
The  boys  borrowed  his  neckties  and  his  handker¬ 
chiefs  from  his  room,  and  wore  them  about  with 
charming  abandon. 

“We’ve  all  got  one  on,”  said  Clarence,  touch¬ 
ing  his  necktie,  at  dinner,  and  pointing  to  the 
other  boys,  as  he  nodded  to  Tom.  Tom  smiled 
back.  Dear  boys  !  How  he  loved  them. 

Mrs.  St.  John  gave  Leslie  a  hundred  dollars, 
with  which  the  Colonel  had  told  her  to  “  buy 
things.”  Very  little  could  be  done  in  a  week 
toward  a  wedding  trousseau  ;  and  Mrs.  St.  John 
was  tired,  and  told  Leslie  she  had  better  wait, 
and  buy  things  when  she  got  settled. 

The  Colonel  gave  her  on  the  sly  two  hundred 
dollars  more.  It  was  very  generous  in  him,  for 
he  had  hard  work  to  get  along,  just  then.  Tom 
told  Leslie  that  she  had  better  keep  it,  and 
send  it  back  when  she  wrote  to  them  :  he  had 
enough  for  all  her  “  gewgaws.” 

The  Colonel  blessed  Tom,  when  that  letter 
arrived.  He  had  not  known,  on  a  second  thought, 
how  to  get  along  without  the  money. 

“  I  found  a  song  about  you,”  said  Leslie  to 
Tom.  “  I  bought  it  at  a  music-store.  I  will  sing 
it  for  you  some  time.  It  is  :  — 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK.  223 


“  ‘  Douglas,  Douglas,  tender  and  true  ;  * 

but  it  made  me  cry,  it  was  so  sad.” 

“  I  don’t  think  it  is  very  sad  to  be  ‘tender  and 
true,’  ”  said  Tom.  “  I  fancy  you  ’d  cry  by  and 
by,  if  I  wasn’t.” 

“  I  shan’t  be  sad  any  more,”  said  Leslie  :  “  I’m 
perfectly  happy ;  and  you  know  I  said  that  would 
pay  me  for  all  the  unhappy  days,  —  and  it  does.” 

“  Do  you  remember  that  tea  of  ours,  and  how 
you  warmed  my  toast,  and  how  cozy  it  was  there  ?  ” 
said  Tom.  “  I  wanted  to  kiss  you,  —  but  I  knew 
you  would  be  angry.” 

“  I  should  have  been  angry,”  said  Leslie,  “  but 
I  should  have  liked  it,  —  I  mean  if  I’d  thought, 
—  no,  I  mean  ”  — 

“  Oh,  you  needn’t  explain,”  said  Tom.  “  It ’s 
all  right  now.” 

So  they  were  married,  —  Leslie  wearing  the 
white  dress  which  she  had  worn  at  the  hop. 
Pomp  had  helped  her  sew,  —  for  he  was  “quite 
a  seamster.”  Mrs.  St.  John  put  on  the 
flowers. 

The  boys  all  cried  :  they  loved  Leslie  dearly. 
Mrs.  St.  John  pressed  to  her  dry  eyes  a  fine 
handkerchief.  Her  mission  was  accomplished ; 
peace  reigned  in  her  soul. 

The  Colonel  beamed  with  content:  he  was 
glad  to  have  Leslie  happy. 


224  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


Pomp  was  heart-broken  for  himself,  but  joyful 
for  his  darling. 

When  Leslie  bade  them  good-by,  she  kissed 
Pomp,  and  hugged  him,  and  cried  with  all  her 
heart. 

“  Don’t  yer  cry,”  said  Pomp,  smiling  a  dis¬ 
torted  smile  through  his  tears.  “  Don’t  cry.” 
Then  he  laid  his  hand  on  her  head,  and  gave 
her  his  benediction  :  — 

“  May  de  Lord  gib  yer  His  massy-guard,  an’ 
make  yer  de  light  ob  His  eyes  an’  de  joy  ob  His 
heart,  an’  bress  yer  fur  ever  an’  ever.  An’  now 
go  forth,  an’  take  yer  place  ’mong  de  nations  ob 
de  ’arth,  an’  flourish  like  a  green-baize  tree. 
Amen.” 

“  You  used  to  give  me  awful  cuts,  Leslie,” 
said  Tom,  when  they  were  whirling  away  in  the 
cars,  “saying,  ‘just  for  once,’  or  ‘just  for  twice.’ 
Now,  my  young  lady,  I  have  you  ‘just  for  al¬ 
ways.’  ” 

“  It  is  very  strange  that  no  letter  comes  from 
Tom,”  said  Mrs.  Douglas.  “We  haven’t  heard 
for  a  week.” 

One  afternoon  an  expressman  drove  up  to  the 
Doctor’s  house.  He  brought  in  an  unknown 
trunk  and  a  big  package,  marked  with  their 
number 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPEL  A  CLOAIC.  225 


“Tom  will  be  here  to  tea,”  said  Mrs.  Douglas, 
cheerfully.  “  I  was  really  getting  worried,  al¬ 
though  I  might  have  remembered  how  he  hates 
writing  letters.” 

“  Where  did  he  get  that  strange  trunk,  and 
what ’s  in  this  package  ?  ”  said  little  Ned,  cutting 
the  string. 

There  was  a  shout  from  all  the  family. 

“  What  have  we  dorie  ?  ”  cried  Bessie,  retreat¬ 
ing,  with  an  air  of  horror. 

“  What  is  it  ?  ”  said  the  Doctor,  raising  his 
eyes. 

It  was  the  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak! 

“The  Opera  Cloak!  ‘Not  Lancelot,  nor 
another,’”  said  Bessie,  “but  just  him,  himself. 
I  suppose  this  trunk  is  his.  Perhaps  Tom  is 
inside.” 

A  telegram  came  a  little  later :  “  Home  at 
seven.” 

The  tea-table  was  set  in  the  back  parlor. 
The  fire-light  danced  on  the  walls,  and  lighted 
up  the  silver  and  the  pretty  china.  A  dainty 
tea  was  made  ready  for  Tom. 

A  ring  at  the  door.  It  was  his  voice,  dea. 
fellow  !  How  merry  and  happy  he  was  ! 

But  who  was  with  him  ? 

Leslie  St.  John  ! 

“  How  lovely  !  ”  said  Bessie,  rushing  to  meet 

15 


226  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


her.  “  What  a  surprise  !  Did  your  aunt  come 
too,  and  all  the  boys  ?  ” 

Leslie  looked  at  Tom  in  dismay. 

“  Good  gracious,  mother  !  ”  cried  Tom.  “  Bes¬ 
sie  !  Everybody !  Didn’t  you  get  my  letter  ? 
Didn’t  you  know  I  was  married  ?  ” 

“Married!  Who  are  you  married  to?”  cried 
little  Ned,  quite  elated.  “  Gertrude  Henderson  ?” 

“To  Leslie,  of  course,”  said  Tom.  “Who 
else  could  it  be  ?  ” 

Mrs.  Douglas  sat  down  and  cried.  The  Doc¬ 
tor  looked  over  his  glasses.  A  dead  silence  fell 
upon  them.  Leslie  was  still  standing.  Tom 
was  getting  angry.  Bessie  laughed,  —  Tom 
blessed  her  for  that,  —  and  ran  to  Leslie  again, 
and  kissed  her. 

“  Come,  Tom,  you  stupid,”  said  she,  “take  off 
her  things.  She ’s  cold.” 

“  My  dear  boy,”  said  Mrs.  Douglas,  “  we  never 
got  your  letter.”  And  she  went  to  him,  and  put 
her  arms  around  his  neck. 

“You  know  it  now,  mother,”  said  he.  “  Don’t 
you  see  Leslie  ?  ” 

Poor  Mrs.  Douglas  turned  :  Leslie’s  sweet 
face  was  wet  with  tears. 

“  Oh,  dear  Mrs.  Douglas,  do  love  me,”  she 
cried:  “I’ll  do  just  what  you  tell  me.” 

Then  Tom’s  mother  took  the  girl  in  her  arms, 
—  she  had  always  had  a  tender  place,  down 


THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK .  227 


in  her  heart,  somewhere,  for  Leslie,  —  and  they 
kissed,  and  made  friends. 

The  Doctor  was  pleased :  he  had  always  liked 
her. 

“  Come  and  sit  in  my  chair,  my  dear/’  said  he, 
trying  to  take  off  her  bonnet,  in  his  clumsy  man's 
way  ;  “  you  must  not  wonder,  if  we  seem  to  be  a 
little  surprised.” 

Leslie  threw  her  arms  around  him,  and  cried 
again. 

So  they  all  comforted  her,  and  little  Ned  cried 
because  the  others  did. 

“  You  have  an  old  friend  here,”  said  Bessie, 
shaking  out  the  opera  cloak  as  Leslie  was  lying 
on  the  sofa  after  tea,  her  hand  in  Mrs.  Douglas’s. 
“  It  came  with  the  trunk.” 

“  Why,”  cried  Leslie,  starting  up,  “  where  did 
that  come  from,  Tom  ?  ”  # 

“  I  don’t  know.  Perhaps  Pomp  packed  it  up, 
thinking  you ’d  be  cold.  I  sent  a  package  of 
yours  and  your  trunk  here  to-day  by  express.” 

Then  they  had  a  great  laugh ;  and  Leslie  was 
taken  into  the  family  joke  of  the  opera  cloak, 
and  laughed  with  the  rest. 

“  O.  C.  St.  John,  Esq.,  is  quite  a  match-maker,” 
said  Bessie  :  “  I  wonder  if  he  ’ll  help  me  out.” 

The  next  morning  a  notice  from  the  dead- 
letter  office  announced  that  a  letter  for  Mrs. 
Douglas  was  held  for  postage.  She  sent  for  it, 


228  THE  COLONEL'S  OPERA  CLOAK. 


and  so,  rather  late  in  the  day,  read  the  important 
announcement  of  Tom’s  marriage. 

Leslie  asked  to  have  the  letter,  to  keep. 

The  opera  cloak  was  hung  up  in  the  lower 
hall.  They  were  going  to  send  it  back  to  the 
Colonel. 

One  day  it  disappeared.  It  was  never  seen 
again. 

Whether  it  was  stolen,  or  whether  it  saw  that 
its  mission  to  the  St.  John  family  was  accom¬ 
plished,  and  went  off  on  an  errand  of  mercy  in 
some  other  field  of  labor,  never  was  known.  But  - 
this  we  do  know  :  somewhere,  somehow,  it  yet 
exists.  And  if  you  ever  happen  to  meet  a  blue 
cloak,  lined  with  red,  with  “  brass  knobs  ”  at  the 
neck,  —  no  matter  where  it  is  or  on  whom  it  is, 
look  on  it  with  respect.  You  know  its  story. 

It  is 

The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak. 


THE  “NO  NAME  SERIES.” 


What  is  thought  of  the  Initial  Volume 
of  the  Series, 

“MERCY  PHILBRICK’S  CHOICE.” 

“  ‘  Mercy  Philbrick’s  Choice’  reads  rather  like  a  record  than  a  story.  Its  per¬ 
sonages  are  few  in  number  ;  there  is  no  ‘  sensation,’ almost  no  plot,  yet  it  is  highly 
interesting.  In  saying  this,  we  indicate  a  remarkable  story.  The  stage  properties  of 
a  novel  —  events,  situations,  surprises  —  are  cheap,  and  easy  to  come  by.  It  is  the 
higher  art  which  discards  these,  and  trusts  for  effect  to  truth  and  subtlety  of  character 
drawing.”  —  Boston  Transcript. 

“  A  novel  wholly  out  of  the  common  course,  both  in  plot  and  style.  .  .  .  The  moral 
of  the  book  is  wholesome,  —  that  no  good  can  come  from  deceit,  and  that  the  relations 
of  life  and  innocent  love  should  be  frank  and  without  concealment.  Morbidness  works 
only  for  misery,  and  it  is  the  sane  and  sunny  and  sound  people  who  get  the  best  out  of 
this  life.”  —  Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

“  ‘  Mercy  Philbrick’s  Choice  ’  is  a  story  of  great  power,  great  depth  of  thought  and 
feeling,  great  tenderness  and  reverence  for  the  truthfulness  of  truth,  and  great  insight 
into  life.  ...  We  dare  place  it  alongside  George  Eliot’s  latest  in  pointy  of  poetic  in¬ 
sight,  vigor,  and  knowledge  of  life,  and  to  say  that  it  is  superior  to  ‘  Daniel  Deronda  ’ 
in  style,  and  informed  by  a  purer  and  deeper  philosophy.”  — Charles  D.  Warner,  in 
the  Hartford  C our  ant. 

“  It  is  a  pleasure,  in  these  days,  to  get  hold  of  a  new  American  novel  which  mani¬ 
fests  both  culture  and  literary  skill.  The  author  of  ‘Mercy  Philbrick’s  Choice’  is 
evidently  a  woman  who  looks  upon  authorship  as  something  more  than  a  pastime, — 
a  woman  of  clear  intelligent  tastes  and  distinct  aspirations.  The  refined  quality  of 
her  intellect  impresses  itself  upon  the  story  from  first  to  last.”  —  New  York  Tribune. 

“There  are  many  things  to  be  admired  in  this  novel.  The  artistic  delineation  of 
character  and  the  subtle  rendering  of  the  human  atmosphere  show  a  keen  appreciation 
of  the  delicate  shades  which  make  personality  and  influence  the  life  of  ourselves  and 
others.”  —  The  Liberal  Christian. 

“  It  is  a  striking  and  touching  story,  —  this  new  one,  —  and  will  be  greatly  read  and 
admired,  as  it  deserves  to  be.  There  is  even  genius  in  some  of  its  touches,  which 
remind  one  of  a  feminine  counterpart  to  Hawthorne.  ”  — Springfield  Republican. 

“  The  volume  is  interspersed  with  some  of  the  sweetest  poems  to  which  these  latter 
days  have  given  birth,  showing  that  the  author  is  a  master  of  poesy  as  well  as  of  fas¬ 
cinating  fiction.”  —  Hartford  Post. 

“  It  is  a  story  of  the  simplest  motives,  but  as  lovely  and  heart-holding  as  a  sweet 
folk-song.  Every  page  is  endearingly  true  to  the  innermost  part  of  humanity,  and  the 
author  transcribes  the  workings  of  hearts  and  minds  with  no  less  faithfulness  than  she 
(we  insist  that  it  is  a  ‘she’  )  gives  exquisite  pictures  of  nature  and  the  handiwork 
which  ‘  fashions  in  silence.’  The  story  is  from  the  pen  of  a  poet,  and  the  inter-current 
verses  are  each  and  all  gems  of  ‘  ray  serene,’  not  too  flashing,  but  very,  very  appreciable 
to  eyes  which  have  learned  how  to  weep.”  —  Bostott  Traveller. 

“  Read  the  book,  which  is  fascinating.  .  T'lie  author  is  certainly  a  woman.  And 
she  is  a  poet,  too,  of  no  mean  powers,  as  is  proved  by  the  half  dozen  short  poems 
in  the  book.  The  sonnet  engraved  on  Mercy’s  tombstone  is  not  surpassed  by  any  of 
Wordsworth.” —  Troy  Whig. 

“  This  book  is  a  novel  only  in  the  sense  that  George  Eliot’s  books  are  novels.  The 
story  is  subordinated  to  showing  the  inevitable  working  out  of  opposing  moral  forces. 
The  characters,  well  drawn  as  some  of  them  are,  are  hardly  more  than  dial-pointers  on 
the  clock  of  fate.  Of  dramatic  motive  there  is  more  than  enough.”  —  The  Unitarian 
Review- 

In  one  volume,  16mo.  Cloth.  Gilt  and  red-lettered.  SI. 00. 

- ♦ - 

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THE  “NO  NAME  SERIES.” 


- *o^o« - 

“IS  THAT  ALL?” 

“In  some  respects,  this  is  the  best  of  the  three  volumes  yet  published  of 
this  series.  For,  though  it  does  not  go  so  deep  as  ‘  Mercy  Philbrick,’  nor 
deal  in  poetic  fancies  like  ‘Deirdrfc,’  it  is  better  sustained  on  its  own  surface- 
level  than  either  of  those  romances.  It  is  not  a  romance  at  all  in  fact,  but 
a  pleasing  sketch,  somewhat  too  warmly  colored,  of  New  England  social  life 
in  the  well-bred  circle  of  a  small  city,  —  say  Hartford.  The  plot  is  simple  and 
direct,  and  the  story  closes  before  it  has  time  to  become  tiresome  in  any 
particular.  .  .  .  The  book  is  all  it  professes  to  be,  and  sometliing  more,  and 
will  certainly  be  popular.”  —  Springfield  Republican. 

“  The  new  novel  of  the  ‘  No  Name  Series  ’  belongs  of  right  to  the  class  of 
stories  which  men  and  women  take  with  them  on  vacation  journeys.  It  has 
little  plot,  and  what  little  there  is  is  of  the  slightest  kind.  It  is  meant  to  be 
light  and  amusing,  and  is  so  in  a  high  degree.  The  picture  it  gives  of  high 
life  in  a  provincial  city  is  very  fine,  and  a  spirit  of  bantering  which  runs 
through  it  makes  it  extremely  piquant.  As  to  the  authorship  it  is  idle  to 
guess.  We  leave  the  solution  of  the  question  to  the  reader’s  own  skill  in 
reading  riddles,  and  commend  the  anonymous  book  to  his  attention  as  one 
which  will  entertain  him  greatly,  whether  or  not  he  can  guess  its  origin.” 
—  New  York  Evening  Post. 

“  *  Is  That  All  ?  ’  third  in  order  of  the  conundrums  at  which  the  Messrs. 
Roberts  have  set  the  world  a-guessing,  perplexes  conjecture  in  a  greater  degree 
than  its  predecessors.  Its  style  recalls  none  of  our  better-known  writers;  and, 
in  spite  of  the  assurance  of  the  publishers,  we  should  be  disposed  to  set  it 
down  as  the  work  of  a  fresh  hand,  were  it  not  for  the  practice  and  finish  which 
it  evinces.  It  is,  to  use  its  own  words,  a  ‘very  meringue  of  a  story,’  light, 
crisp,  delicately  flavored  ;  but,  for  all  this  sketchiness,  it  is  full  of  real  character 
and  individuality.  .  .  .  There  is  a  great  deal  of  bright,  natural  conversation, 
some  capital  love-making,  and  both  humor  and  good-humor  in  the  pithy,  half- 
sarcastic  touches  which  glance  here  and  there  on  the  page  like  a  smile  out  of 
quizzical,  friendly  eyes  —  Boston  Transcript. 

“  It  is  cleverly  constructed  in  plot,  and  has  the  rare  merit  of  seeming  too 
short.  The  style  is  bright  and  animated,  the  characters  are  evidently  drawn 
from  life,  and  spiritedly  drawn  at  that.  The  conversations  are  •spar'kling  and 
witty,  and  the  work  is  unmistakably  from  the  hand  of  one  thoroughly  ac¬ 
quainted  with  the  world  and  with  good  society.  It  is  the  best  book  of  the 
series,  thus  far,  though,  as  the  author  says,  ‘  a  very  meringue  of  a  story.’  Its 
naturalness  is  not  the  least  of  its  charms.  We  have  been  thoroughly  delighted 
with  it,  and  we  assure  our  readers  that  they  will  derive  equal  pleasure  and  satis¬ 
faction  from  its  perusal.  The  name  of  the  author  has  not  yet  transpired,  but 
we  hazard  the  guess  that  it  is  a  woman,  —  not  owing  to  any  effeminacy  or 
weakness  in  the  style,  but  from  the  fact  that  no  one  but  a  woman  would  write 
so  saucily  about  the  gentler  sex.  We  advise  everybody  to  read  this  clever  little 
story.”  — Saturday  Gazette. 

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THE  “NO  NAME  SERIES.” 

- *0^0* - 

•  KISMET.  A  Nile  Novel. 

Opinions,  generous  tributes  to  genius,  by  well-known  authors 
whose  names  are  withheld, 

44  Well,  I  have  read  4  Kismet,’  and  it  is  certainly  very  remarkable.  The 
story  is  interesting,  —  any  well-told  love  story  is,  you  know,  —  but  the  book  itself  is 
a  great  deal  more  so.  Descriptively  and  sentimentally,  —  I  use  the  word  with 
entire  respect,  —  it  is,  in  spots,  fairly  exquisite.  It  seems  to  me  all  glowing  and 
overflowing  with  what  the  French  call  beautb  du  diable.  .  .  .  The  conversa¬ 

tions  are  very  clever,  and  the  wit  is  often  astonishingly  like  the  wit  of  an  accom¬ 
plished  man  of  the  world.  One  thing  which  seems  to  me  to  show  promise  — 
great  promise,  if  you  will  —  for  the  future  is  that  the  author  can  not  only  repro¬ 
duce  the  conversation  of  one  brilliant  man,  but  can  make  two  men  talk  together  as 
if  they  mere  men,  —  not  women  in  manly  clothes.” 

44  It  is  a  charming  book.  I  have  read  it  twice,  and  looked  it  over  again,  and 
I  wish  I  had  it  all  new  to  sit  up  with  to-night  It  is  so  fresh  and  sweet  and  inn<^ 
cent  and  joyous,  the  dialogue  is  so  natural  and  bright,  the  characters  so  keenly 
edged,  and  the  descriptions  so  poetic.  I  don’t  know  when  I  have  enjoyed 
any  thing  more,  — never  since  I  went  sailing  up  the  Nile  with  Harriet  Martineaa. 
,  .  .  You  must  give  the  author  love  and  greeting  from  one  of  the  fraternity. 

The  hand  that  gives  us  this  pleasure  will  give  us  plenty  more  of  an  improving 
quality  every  year,  I  think.” 

44  4  Kismet’  is  indeed  a  delightful  story,  the  best  of  the  series  undoubtedly.” 

44  If  4  Kismet’  is  the  first  work  of  a  young  lady,  as  reported,  it  shows  a  great 
gift  of  language,  and  powers  of  description  and  of  insight  into  character  and  life 
quite  uncommon.  ...  Of  the  whole  series  so  far,  I  think  ‘Mercy  Philbrick’s 
Choice  ’  is  the  best,  because  it  has,  beside  literary  merit,  some  moral  tone  and 
vigor.  Still  there  are  capabilities  in  the  writer  of  4  Kismet’  even  higher  than  in 
that  of  the  writer  of  4  Mercy  Philbrick’s  Choice.’  ” 

44 1  liked  it  extremely.  It  is  the  best  in  the  series  so  far,  except  in  con¬ 
struction,  in  which  4  Is  That  All?’  slight  as  it  is,  seems  to  me  superior. 
4  Kismet  ’  is  winning  golden  opinions  everywhere.  I  have  nothing  but  praises 
for  it,  and  have  nothing  but  praise  to  give  it.” 

44  I  have  read  4  Kismet  ’  once,  and  mean  to  read  it  again.  It  is  thoroughly 
charming,  and  wall  be  a  success.” 

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■  -OO^CW - 

THE  GREAT  MATCH. 

“The  ‘  No  Name  Series,’  in  course  of  publication  by  Roberts  Brothers,  Boston, 
has  been  a  success  from  the  beginning.  ‘  Kismet,’  a  Nile  Novel,  is  not  alone  a  charm¬ 
ing  love  story,  but  one  of  the  best-written  travel-fictions  in  our  language;  and 
‘Dierdrfe,’  the  longest  and  best-sustained  narrative  poem  that  has  been  published  for 
a  long,  long  time,  also  has  added  greatly  to  the  popularity  of  the  ‘  No  Name  Series.’ 
We  now  have  ‘  The  Great  Match,’  another  volume,  to  be  characterized  rather  as  a 
thorough  New  England  story  than  classed  among  American  novels,  very  few  of  which 
are  worth  reading.  The  author  has  shown  no  small  ingenuity  in  making  a  great  match 
of  base  ball  the  foundation  of  this  pleasant  and  effective  narrative.  Base  ball  (fa¬ 
cetiously  called  ‘Our  National  Game,’  albeit  only  an  adaptation  of  the  English 
‘rounders’)  is  elevated  in  this  story  into  an  active  element  of  amusement,  connected 
with  which  are  the  incidents  which,  adroitly  worked  up,  complete  the  plot.  If  any 
one  wishes  to  witness  a  well-foughten  game  of  base  ball,  without  the  crushing,  the  dust, 
even  the  danger  (for  the  ball  sometimes  hits  the  spectators  and  damages  their  features), 
let  him  read  ‘  The  Great  Match,’  and  he  will  learn  all  about  it.  This  is  a  hearty, 
lively,  simply  told  story,  another  decided  hit  in  the  ‘No  Name  Series.’”  —  Phila~ 
delphia  Press. 

“  Is  a  satire  on  the  small  interests,  great  excitements,  and  petty  jealousies  of  small 
towns,  typified  by  Dornfield  and  Milltown,  easily  recognized  by  the  reader  as  two  of 
the  pretty  towns  on  the  Connecticut  River.  The  event  of  the  book,  the  only  event, 
is  a  base-ball  match,  but  out  of  it  grow  several  love  affairs.  Summer  visitors,  the 
affected  youth  spoiled  by  European  travel,  and  the  thin,  learned  Boston  girl,  come  in 
for  a  share  of  the  author’s  overflowing  and  good-natured  satire.  There  are  touches 
of  real  wit,  of  artistic  taste,  and  of  a  genuine  love  for  nature  and  all  true  and  sweet 
things  scattered  through  the  story,  which  has  strong  internal  evidence  of  being  written 
by  ‘  P.  Thorne.’  ”  —  Boston  Daily  A  dvertiser. 

“  We  have  derived  as  much  amusement  from  this  novel  as  from  any  that  has  as 
yet  appeared  in  the  series.  The  humor  is  exceedingly  clean-cut,  and  is,  moreover, 
without  exaggeration.  The  satire  is  keen,  but  good-natured,  and  the  tone  is  healthy. 
If  we  are  not  mistaken,  this  bonk  will  enjoy  as  large  a  popularity  and  as  wide  an 
appreciation  as  have  attended  any  of  its  ‘No  Name’  predecessors.”  —  Boston  Satur- 
cLiy  Evening  Gazette. 

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- - 

A  MODERN  MEPHISTOPHELES. 

“  It  is  decidedly  the  best  novel  of  the  series,  thus  far.  .  «  .  The  leading  idea  of  *  A 
Modern  Mephistopheles  ’  is  ingenious.  The  characters  are  skilfully  chosen  to  repre¬ 
sent  it :  the  one  secret  in  the  story  is  beyond  the  guessing  of  most  readers,  and 
admirably  concealed  until  the  true  moment  for  its  disclosure ;  and  the  denouement  is 
as  satisfactory  as  we  could  expect.  Helwyze,  like  Goethe’s  Mephistopheles,  wills  the 
bad  and  works  the  good  :  the  justice  of  Fate  falls  upon  him,  and  not  upon  his  victim. 
But  this  is  the  only  point  of  resemblance.  Gladys,  although  occupying  the  place  of 
Margaret,  is  an  entirely  different  creature,  and  it  is  the  best  success  of  the  author’s 
art  that  she  is  more  real  to  us  than  the  other  three  characters.  The  work  belongs  to 
the  class  of  imaginative  fiction  which  claims  its  right  to  dispense  with  probability  or 
even  strict  dramatic  consistency.  It  cannot  be  measured  by  the  standard  which  wa 
apply  to  novels  of  society  or  of  ordinary  human  interests,  but  rather  by  that  which 
belongs  to  poetry.”  — New  York  Tribune. 

“  The  latest  issue  of  the  ‘  No  Name  ’  Series  claims  precedence  not  only  because  it 
is  the  freshest  novelty,  but  through  an  excellence  that  places  it  readily  first.  Consid¬ 
ered  alike  for  its  interest  as  a  tale  and  for  its  elegance  of  literary  art,  it  is  a  work  that 
alone  will  give  distinction  to  the  series.  The  plot  is  peculiarly  novel  in  its  details  if  not 
in  its  general  conception  ;  and  throughout  the  story  the  most  pervading  impression  is 
that  of  the  freshness  —  not  crudeness,  but  the  freshness  of  mature  thought  which 
it  everywhere  carries.  .  .  .  The  title  is  but  a  hint.  It  is  no  revamping  of  Goethe’s 
story  of  Faust,  nor  a  plagiarism  of  ideas  in  any  form  ;  unless  the  central  thought,  of 
the  ‘  woman-soul  that  leads  us  upward  and  on,’  which  is  common  to  romantic  as  to 
psychological  fiction,  may  be  considered  such.  The  characters  are  drawn  with  a 
sharp  outline,  standing  forth  as  distinctly  individual  as  the  etchings  of  Retzsch  ;  and 
for  symmetry  and  consistency,  in  every  word  and  every  action  which  the  author  makes 
them  think,  speak,  or  do,  they  are  thoroughly  admirable  creations.  Four  figures  only 
appear  in  the  action  on  this  little  stage;  and  the  story,  when  analyzed,  shows  a  strange 
absence  of  what  is  usually  considered  the  dramatic  element.  Yet  such  is  the  skill  of 
the  author  that  the  reader  is  led  on  as  by  the  most  vivid  material  tragedy,  compelled 
by  the  development  of  thought  and  feeling.  .  .  .  More  than  this,  the  book  is  a  constant 
intellectual  delight.  The  grace  of  the  author’s  style  is  equalled  by  its  finish.  De* 
scription  and  conversation  are  like  a  fine  mosaic,  in  which  the  delicate  art  of  the 
workmanship  passes  unseen,  and  the  eye  catches  only  the  perfect  picture  until  a  close 
examination  reveals  the  method  of  its  structure.”  —  Boston  Post. 

“  This  series,  so  far,  has  brought  us  no  prose  work  equal  in  depth  and  dramatic 
design  to  this  one.  ...  It  is  unquestionably  the  work  of  genius,  powerful  in  concep¬ 
tion,  elegant  in  construction,  lofty  in  tone,  proving,  as  few  books  do,  the  power  of  one 
clean,  white  soul,  to  cope  with  evil  in  its  most  insidious  forms,  while  preserving  its 
wn  ‘  crystal  clarity.’  ...  But  who  wrote  this  story  ?  Whose  hand  painted  these 
marvellous  pictures  of  the  angel  and  the  demon  striving  for  the  mastery  in  every 
human  soul?  ” —  The  New  Age. 

- - - 

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Boston. 


THE  “NO  NAME  SERIES.” 


AFTERGLOW. 

“The  seventh  of  the  ‘  No  Name  Series,’  ‘Afterglow,’  is  a  strong  novel,  and,  in 
many  respects,  a  remarkable  one.  .  .  .  The  style  is  easy,  and  that  of  an  accomplished 
writer ;  the  tone,  through  most  of  the  book,  cool,  satirical,  with  more  than  a  touch  of 
mockery,  and  sparkling  with  unexpected  wit,  touches  of  exquisite  drollery,  and  ingen¬ 
ious  iancies.  Although  each  character  is  by  itself  unattractive,  and  its  faulty  side 
carefully  displayed,  tne  complications  and  social  plots  are  so  easy  and  admirably 
handled  that,  mean  as  they  are,  they  become  of  great  interest,  and  the  matter  of  per¬ 
sonal  mutual  influence  is  so  prominent  that  it  gives  the  story  a  philosophical  air,  and 
the  dignity  that  it  needs.  ...  For  three-quarters  of  the  book  the  reader  admires  the 
cleverness,  the  capital  workmanship  only  :  he  closes  it  with  the  verdict  that  the  story 
is  not  only  clever,  but  that  it  is  far  more  and  far  better  than  clever.”  —  Boston  Daily 
A  dvertiser. 

“  With  the  exception  of  the  delicately  written  sketch,  *  Is  That  All?’  none  of  the 
*  No  Name’  books  have  been  so  good  literature  as  *  Afterglow,’  the  latest  on  the  list ; 
and  the  qualities  of  this  story  stand  in  an  order  which  ought  to  gain  it  the  favor  of  the 
best  readers.  ...  In  fact,  the  simple  and  direct  narration,  and  the  treatment  of  inci¬ 
dents  and  characters,  more  than  once  recall  the  master  of  modem  fiction.”  —  The 
A  tla7itic  Monthly. 

“  It  is  so  seldom  that  one  finds  in  a  recent  American  novel  a  positive  addition  to 
literature  that  the  issue  of  a  work  like  ‘Afterglow,’  the  latest  volume  of  the ‘No 
Name’  Series  of  Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers,  merits  cordial  recognition.  The  book  is 
the  production  of  no  ordinary  mind.  .  .  .  Those  inclined  to  guess  the  authorship  need 
not  go  beyond  the  men  who  are  known  in  literature.  There  are  some  sketchy  features 
in  the  story,  but  there  is  a  firm  grasp  in  the  narrative  which  proves  the  hand  that 
weaves  it  to  be  that  of  a  master.  It  is  thoroughly  polished  in  its  satire,  and  the  wit 
in  which  it  abounds  is  of  the  keenest  character.  ...  It  is,  it  may  safely  be  said,  the 
production  of  one  of  the  ‘  Atlantic  Monthly  ’  school  of  writers.  ‘  Afterglow  ’  is  not  the 
kind  of  novel  that  is  generally  designated  as  popular,  but  it  is  a  work  displaying  more 
talent  and  more  originality  than  any  of  its  predecessors  in  the  ‘  No  Name  Series,’  and 
will  be  a  standard  favorite  with  thoughtful  and  cultivated  people.”  — Boston  Saturday 
Gazette- 

“Whether  or  not  ‘Afterglow,’  which  is  the  latest,  is  also  the  best  of  the  ‘No 
Name’ novels,  is  a  question  upon  which  the  faithful  readers  of  that  excellent  series 
will  probably  differ,  but  there  will  be  no  hesitation  on  the  part  of  any  of  them  to  accord 
it  a  place  as  at  least  one  of  the  best.”  —  N .  Y.  Evening  Post. 

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NO  NAME  SERIES. 

-r-4 - 

Hettys  Strange  History. 

By  the  Author  of  “Mercy  Philbrick’s  Choice.” 


“  The  critic  whom  I  have  already  quoted  —  one  whom  long  residence  in  a 
foreign  country  has  made  a  more  dispassionate  judge  of  American  literature 
than  most  of  us  can  be — declared  it  as  his  judgment  that  ‘  Hetty’s  Strange 
History  ’  is  the  most  remarkable  of  recent  American  fictions.  Such  is  my  own 
opinion,  so  far  as  I  am  competent  to  judge.  .  .  .  The  field  of  great  fiction 
must  always  be,  after  all,  in  profound  emotions  and  strange  histories.”  — 
T.  W.  Higginson,  in  the  Woman’s  Journal. 

“The  sterling  merit  of  the  author  of  ‘Hetty’s  Strange  History’  is  her 
hearty  strength.  .  .  .  The  atmosphere  of  this  book  is  regal ;  it  is  a  moral  tonic 
of  the  wholesomest  sort.  To  walk  with  Hetty  is  to  breathe  imperial  air,  to 
don  the  royal  purple,  and  to  take  up  the  sceptre  of  the  world ;  only  for  a  few 
bright  hours,  but  it  is  a  noble  illusion  while  it  lasts. 

“  The  superiority  of  this  story  to  the  author’s  first,  ‘  Mercy  Philbrick’s  Choice,’ 
is  very  marked.  .  .  .  Hetty  is  very  human,  and  makes  her  great  mistake  easily 
enough,  in  a  most  natural  and  human  way,  and  cures  it  at  the  right  time,  with¬ 
out  any  foolish  ado ;  but  from  first  to  last  her  masterful  pulse  beats  to  a  noble 
rhythm  ;  whatever  she  does,  she  does  worthily,  and  we  praise  her  at  every 
step. 

“This  book  is  sure  to  be  liked,  because  it  brings  the  best  of  what  every 
aspiring  mind  —  no  matter  how  weak  now  —  reaches  after  with  intense  desire; 
and  it  is  impossible  to  go  through  it,  and  not  feel  at  the  end  that  its  society  has 
greatly  cheered  and  ennobled  one’s  own  life.  It  is  by  far  the  best  of  the  ‘  No 
Name  Series.’  ”  —  “  Richmond N.  Y.  Correspondent  of  the  Chicago  J ournal. 

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Boston. 


“NO  NAME  SERIES. ” 


WILL  DENBIGH,  Nobleman. 

“  The  latest  of  the  ‘  No  Name  Series  ’  is  a  simple,  lovely  Devonshire  story, 
exquisitely  told.  Will  Denbigh,  whose  name  is  the  title  of  the  book,  is  a 
noble  hero  ;  the  little  heroine  wins  and  keeps  his  heart ;  but  the  great  charm  of 
the  tale  is  not  in  its  love  stories,  hearty  and  direct  as  those  are,  but  in  its  pict¬ 
ures  of  country  life  and  country  curates,  —  the  curates  who  must  be  scattered 
all  over  England,  of  whom  Charles  Kingsley  was  one,  gentlemen  and  scholars, 
who  devote  all  they  are  and  all  they  have  to  the  cause  of  Christianity,  and  whose 
lives  of  service  in  the  little  parishes  of  farmers  or  fishermen  are  a  close  following 
of  the  Master  whom  they  worship.  The  author  does  not  preach,  but  tells  these 
beautiful  things  and  paints  these  noble  and  tender  pictures  as  if  he  or  she  had 
always  known  them,  had  always  been  familiar  with  such  characters,  and  talks 
about  them  with  a  tenderness  and  direct  simplicity  that  makes  them  alive  and 
real  to  the  reader.  The  book  is  thoroughly  sweet,  sound  and  hopeful  in 
spirit ;  the  style  has  the  strength  and  simplicity  of  an  accomplished  writer.”  — 
Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

“  This  charming  and  clever  story  we  are  disposed  to  regard  as  the  best  tale 
yet  produced  in  the  ‘  No  Name  Series.’  ”  —  The  Philadelphia  Press. 

“  Inferior  to  none  of  them  in  point  of  interest.  ...  Its  perusal  will  be  a 
source  of  delight  to  every  reader,  and  will  add  greatly  to  the  reputation  of  a 
most  deservedly  popular  series.”  — New  Bedford  Mercury. 

“  The  novels  in  the  ‘  No  Name  Series  ’  seem  to  take  on  a  more  ambitious 
character  as  their  number  increases,  and  the  one  here  before  us  (‘Will  Den¬ 
bigh  ’)  ranks  higher  up  in  the  scale  of  literary  merit  than  most  of  its  prede¬ 
cessors.” —  Boston  Post. 

“The  story  admirably  maintains  the  reputation  of  the  series.”  —  Boston 
Commonwealth. 

“  ‘  Will  Denbigh  ’  is  the  best  of  the  novels  that  have  as  yet  appeared  in 
the  ‘No  Name  Series.’  It  is  a  fresh,  wholesome,  and  thoroughly  agreeable 
story.  ’  ’  —  Portland  Press. 

“  ‘  No  Name  ’  is  considered  a  perfect  guarantee  of  excellence.  The  last 
issue,  ‘  Will  Denbigh  ’  will  not  detract  from  the  conceded  excellence  of  the 
series.”  —  Albany  Evening  Journal. 

“  On  the  whole,  ‘  Will  Denbigh  ’  continues  the  series  well,  and  is  still 
.  another  kind  of  link  in  this  chain,  unlike  in  form  and  ring  of  metal  to  any  of 
its  predecessors.”  —  Boston  Traveller. 

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- - 

THE  WOLF  AT  THE  DOOR. 

From  the  Providence  Journal. 

A  fresh  member  of  the  “No  Name”  series  is  as  welcome  as  a  sight  of  the  dan¬ 
delions  and  pansies  that  have  greeted  admiring  eyes  in  this  exceptionally  mild  winter. 
“The  Wolf  at  the  Door”  is  the  name  of  the  new-comer;  and,  though  usually  sug¬ 
gestive  of  misfortune  and  suffering,  readers  will  find  that  when  the  wolf  knocks  at  the 
door  Cupid  finds  entrance  at  the  window,  which  is  by  no  means  disagreeable.  The 
story  is  eminently  readable,  and  is  written  in  an  attractive  style,  happily  blending 
satire  and  cultivation.  Some  phases  of  Boston  fashionable  life  are  capitally  carica¬ 
tured,  the  charitable-society  mania  is  admirably  portrayed,  and  the  description  of  the 
Boston  Bazaar  is  drawn  to  the  life.  .  .  .  “The  Wolf  at  the  Door”  will  sustain  the 
reputation  of  the  anonymous  family  to  which  it  belongs.  The  plot  is  slight,  but  spir¬ 
ited;  the  conversations  are  bright  and  sparkling,  and  the  hand  that  holds  the  wires 
knows  the  world,  and  is  at  home  in  good  society ;  while  good  humor,  sarcasm,  and  a 
pervading  refinement  give  a  piquant  and  delicate  flavor  to  the  attractive  pen-pictures 
that  bear  the  impress  of  being  drawn  from  life. 

From  the  N.  Y.  Commercial  Advertiser. 

“The  Wolf  at  the  Door”  is  intended  for  light  reading;  but  notwithstanding  this 
fact,  and  although  it  does  not  come  up  in  interest  to  “  Mercy  Philbrick’s  Choice,”  the 
first  of  the  series,  it  serves  a  good  purpose,  and  represents  a  class  of  literature  morally 
and  aesthetically  far  above  the  common  level  of  the  popular  writings  of  the  day,  and 
for  that  reason  we  commend  it. 

Frojn  the  Boston  Courier. 

The  whole  atmosphere  of  this  story  breathe.s  refinement  and  a  knowledge  of  what 
is  called  the  best  society.  It  is  an  unambitious  and  unforced  attempt  to  paint  the 
social  life  of  some  of  the  representative  families  of  Boston,  in  their  daily  pursuits  and 
recreations.  The  plot  is  very  slight,  but  the  characters  introduced  are  plainly  drawn 
from  life ;  and  their  conversation,  without  being  astonishingly  brilliant,  is  that  of 
educated  people  who  have  travelled  much  with  observant  eyes.  It  thus  has  a  flavor  of 
“  culture  ”  without  being  pedantic,  and  the  story  unfolds  itself  without  a  sensational 
contortion.  .  .  .  The  story,  as  one  of  the  famous  “No  Name  Series,”  does  no 
discredit  to  the  volumes  which  have  preceded  it.  Certainly  those  who  are  most 
pleased  with  its  unaffected  portrayal  of  characters  and  events  that  are  in  no  sense 
unreal  or  far-fetched  can  award  it  no  warmer  praise. 

From  the  Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

This  is  a  capital  story,  bright,  gossipy,  and  pleasant.  The  characters  are  Bosto¬ 
nian,  without  the  starch.  The  heroine  is  a  charming  and  natural  character,  who  is 
cheated  out  of  her  fortune,  yet  wins  a  deserved  prize  in  the  matrimonial  lottery, 
—  a  husband  that  will  be  able  to  keep  the  w'olf  from  the  door.  Messrs.  Roberts  have 
neglected  nothing  in  the  book  to  add  to  its  luck.  While  they  keep  to  the  title  of 
“  No  Name  Series,”  they  are  entitled  to  the  name  of  “  Lucky  Series,”  from  the  suc¬ 
cess  of  the  books,  and  from  the  symbols  of  horseshoe  and  four-leaved  clover  that 
ornament  the  cover.  The  book  is  anonymous,  but  the  author  might  be  proud  to  own 
it.  Possibly  the  author  of  “The  Queen  of  Sheba”  may  know  something  of  it. 

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“NO  NAME  SERIES.” 


MARMORNE. 

“  It  Is  not,  however,  merely  on  account  of  outward  characteristics  that  we  have 
called  ‘  Marmorne’  a  remarkable  book.  It  is  also  one  of  the  most  powerful  novels 
of  the  narrative,  as  opposed  to  the  analytical,  class,  that  has  appeared  for  a  long  time,” 
says  the  London  Athenceum. 

“  ‘  Marmorne  ’  makes  its  appearance  anonymously  ;  but  we  are  persuaded  that  the 
author  is  no  novice,  and  are  inclined  to  fancy  that  we  recognize  the  hand,  .  .  .  which 
reminds  us  not  a  little  of  ‘  Round  my  House.’  ...  He  has  written  a  novel  which  is 
extremely  fascinating  and  eminently  picturesque,”  says  the  Saturday  Review. 

“  This  can  only  be  characterized  as  a  masterpiece  of  extraordinary  artistic  sim¬ 
plicity.  ...  In  other  words,  it  is  a  plain  narrative  of  events,  written  with  a  skill  and 
a  power  that  are  truly  admirable,”  says  the  London  World. 

“  As  a  whole,  it  is  one  of  the  best  of  the  series  in  which  it  appears,”  says  the 
Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

“We  think  no  reader  of  ‘Around  my  House’  and  ‘The  Unknown  River’  will 
hesitate  long  as  to  where  to  fix  the  authorship  of  ‘  Marmorne,’  ”  says  the  Boston  Tran¬ 
script. 

“  The  descriptive  passages  in  this  book  entitle  it  to  the  first  rank  in  the  1  No  Name 
Series,’  but  there  have  been  so  many  good  novels  included  under  that  title  that  we  are 
not  quite  prepared  to  say  it  is  the  best.  It  is,  however,  good  enough  to  be  included 
among  the  most  successful  stories  of  the  year,”  says  the  Boston  Courier. 

“  We  will  not  call  this  the  best  story  of  the  *  No  Name  Series,’  because  some  one 
else  is  sure  to  do  it,  each  volume  having  received  that  praise  as  it  appeared.  Cer¬ 
tainly  there  has  been  nothing  better  in  the  series ;  and,  if  it  is  written  by  an  American, 
it  is  a  clever  performance,  for  it  has  a  thoroughly  foreign  air,”  says  the  New  York 
Herald. 

“  ‘Marmorne,’  the  latest  of  the  ‘  No  Name  Series,’  and  by  far  the  best  of  those 
recently  issued  under  the  title.  It  is  attributed,  and  we  think  without  mistake,  to 
the  accomplished  English  painter  and  art  critic,  Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton.  It  is  a 
clever  book,”  says  the  Hartford  Courant. 

“  The  ‘  No  Name  Series’  has  had  a  large  reputation :  the  present  volume  will  add 
new  admirers,  as  it  is  the  best  of  the  series,”  says  the  Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

“One  of  the  best  of  the  ‘  No  Name  Series’  which  has  been  thus  far  issued  is  the 
number  now  before  us.  From  the  very  outset  it  yields  the  comfort  afforded  by  the 
touch  of  a  strong  hand.  ...  It  is,  in  any  event,  a  book  w'hich  Hamerton  cannot 
regret  to  have  ascribed  to  him,  as  it  is  full  worthy  of  his  genius  and  reputation,”  says 
the  Chicago  Tribune. 

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- O-O^gEjOO - 

MIRAGE. 

“  Is  in  many  respects  superior  to  ‘  Kismet.’  The  story  is  told  with  great  care,  the 
style  is  more  earnest  and  mor§  vigorous  than  that  of  ‘  Kismet,’  the  feeling  is  deeper, 
the  tone  higher,  the  execution  smoother,  the  author  more  confident  of  herself,  and 
apparently  conscious  of  increasing  strength,”  says  the  Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

“  The  author  is  to  be  congratulated  on  having  made  progress  in  novel-writing,  for 
‘  Mirage’  is  certainly  an  improvement  on  ‘  Kismet,’  and,  above  all,  it  is  a  work  sui 
generis says  the  London  Athenczum. 

“It  was  only  to  be  expected,  and  even  more  to  be  hoped,  that  the  author  of 
‘  Kismet  ’  would  make  a  second  attempt  in  a  field  similar  to  that  in  which  his  first 
laurels  were  won.  We  are  happy  to  say  that  fresh  ground  lias  been  broken  with 
remarkable  success,  and  that  ‘  Mirage  ’  may  fairly  rank  beside  its  fascinating  prede¬ 
cessor,”  says  the  London  Court  Journal. 

“Here,  too.  we  have  a  group  of  Americans  who  ‘do’  Syria  instead  of  Egypt. 
Those  readers  —  and  their  number  has  been  many  —  who  found  a  charm  in  ‘  Kismet  ’ 
may  take  up  ‘  Mirage’  without  fear  of  disappointment,”  says  the  London  Graphic. 

“  ‘  Mirage’  is  by  the  author  of  ‘  Kismet,’  so,  of  course,  we  are  spared  the  trouble 
of  guessing.  It  may  be  set  beside  the  latter  work,  as  the  two  best  novels  of  the 
‘  No  Name  Series.’  .  .  .  The  work,  in  some  essential  particulars,  shows  an  advance 
on  ‘  Kismet.’  The  style  is  firmer  and  more  assured,  and  the  characters  exhibit  a 
better  subordination  to  the  author’s  design.  These  will  not  be  the  last  works  from 
the  same  pen :  the  author  is  not  mistaken  in  her  vocation,”  says  the  New  York 
Tribune. 

“  We  had  occasion,  some  months  since,  to  speak  of  ‘  Kismet’  as  a  clever  and 
promising  novel ;  and  we  are  happy  to  be  able  to  say  that  the  author  of  ‘  Kismet’  has 
redeemed  the  pledge  of  that  work  with  even  greater  promptness  than  was  to  be 
expected.  ‘  Mirage  ’  strikes  us  as  very  clever  indeed,  and  as  a  decided  advance  upon 
its  predecessor.  .  .  .  Great  charm  of  description,  a  great  deal  of  fineness  of  observation, 
a  great  deal  of  wit  in  the  conversations,  a  constant  facility  and  grace  of  style,  —  these 
good  points  are  decidedly  more  noticeable.  .  .  .  The  present  book  is  infinitely  fresher 
and  wittier  than  ninety-nine  hundredths  of  the  novels  periodically  emitted  by  the 
regular  group  of  English  fiction-mongers,”  says  the  New  York  Nation. 

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THE  “NO  NAME  SERIES.” 

BHIRBRR. 

“  1  Deirdr^  ’  is  a  remarkable  poem,  written  in  ten-syllable  lines,  with  almost 
perfect  ease  of  versification.  .  .  .  The  author  has  an  enthusiastic  and  delicate 
love  of  nature  in  all  her  moods.  His  battle  scenes  are  all  ?tt  in  glowing  land¬ 
scapes  ;  he  sings  the  glories  of  the  earth  and  of  the  skies,  as  well  as  the 
achievements  of  his  heroes  ;  he  makes  you  feel  the  weather  and  the  landscape, 
the  sharpness  of  late  autumn,  the  life  and  sweetness  of  spring.  The  fault  of 
the  foem.  is  an  excess  of  its  beauties  (?).”  —  Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

“  Such  is  the  story  of  Deirdre  ;  a  story  of  extraordinary  power  and  pathos, 
and  one  which,  though  dealing  with  remote  times  and  barbarous  characters, 
awakens  a  strong  sympathy  in  the  breast  of  the  reader.  Some  of  the  passages 
of  the  poem  are  absolutely  Homeric,  particularly  the  descriptions  of  the  battles  ; 
while  there  are  here  and  there  subtle  touches  of  nature,  all  the  more  potent 
because  of  their  savage  setting.  Altogether  it  is  the  poem  of  this  day  and 
generation,  and  worthy  a  place  beside  the  best  work  of  the  best  living  poets  of 
England  or  America.”  —  Boston  Transcript. 

“  One’s  first  thought  on  reading  the  last  line  of  this  poem  is  of  its  absolute 
integrity  of  excellence.  Not  a  faulty  line  mars  its  expansive  beauty;  not  a 
commonplace  sentiment  degrades  it.  ...  We  have  never  read  a  poem  whose 
perfection  is  so  steadfastly  sustained ;  from  the  first  line  to  the  last  there  is  no 
descent  from  the  original  nobility  of  thought  and  style.  ...  Its  atmosphere 
is  strangely  high  and  healthful.  Honor  rules  almost  every  act  in  the  eventful 
drama.  .  .  .  The  most  exigent  sense  of  duty  seems  to  animate  every  person  in 
the  poem ;  and  the  episode  of  their  deaths  illustrates  the  noblest  qualities  of 
human  nature.  .  .  .  Over  the  whole  sky  of  his  poem  there  broods  an  atmos¬ 
phere  of  the  most  exquisite  refinement.  .  .  .  But  words  cannot  do  justice  to 
the  grandeur  and  beauty  of  ‘Deirdr^;’  it  is  the  poem  of  the  century.”  — 
Literary  World. 

“  Thus  1  Deirdrfc  ’  comes  forth  a  grand  epic,  a  poem  of  which  America  can 
be  proud  as  the  country  from  which  it  issues,  and  all  other  reading  lands  glad 
and  satisfied.  There  is  in  it  the  grandeur  and  magnificence  of  the  Greek  of  the 
Iliad  and  Odyssey ;  the  beauty  and  grace,  the  rich  imagery  of  the  ./Eneid,  and 
the  rythmic  flow  of  Dante’s  writings.  The  power  of  the  poem  is  not  spasmo¬ 
dic,  the  genius  of  the  writer  is  not  fitful,  and  the  beauty  of  the  verse  is  nowhere 
hampered  by  artifice  or  lessened  by  signs  of  relapsing  from  the  highest  standard. 
On  the  contrary,  steadily,  firmly,  grandly  the  story  progresses,  with  a  rich  fer¬ 
tility  of  poetic  skill  and  rare  picturing,  to  its  closing  page.  The  poem  is  des¬ 
tined  to  live  and  rank  among  modern  classics.”  —  Boston  Traveller. 

“  ‘  Deirdre  ’  would  have  attracted  attention  without  the  adjunct  of  mystery 
(No  Name?).  It  is  a  narrative  poem,  original  in  its  material,  boldly  conceived, 
and  written  with  sufficient  poetic  skill  and  feeling  to  separate  it  wholly  from  the 
crowd  of  crude  and  ambitious  attempts  which  are  constantly  issuing  from  the 
press.  ’  ’  —  New  York  T ribune. 

“  The  reader  easily  discovers  that  it  is  a  poem  of  very  rare  quality,  a  great 
poem,  we  may  say,  without  misusing  the  adjective ;  but  precisely  how  great  it 
is,  precisely  how  it  compares  with  other  works  of  a  like  kind,  it  is  not  easy  to 
determine  while  the  glamour  of  a  first  reading  is  upon  us.  For  the  present  it 
is  enough  that  we  shall  read  it  and  enjoy  it,  recognizing  its  richness  in  all  that 
makes  poetry  good,  and  learning  to  know  its  spirit  and  its  significance.”  —  New 
York  Evening  Post. 

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THE  “ NO  NAME  SERIES." 


- ♦ - 

GEMINI. 


It  has  been  rumored  that  the  present  volume  of  the  “  No  Name  Series”  is 
from  the  pen  of  Louisa  M.  Alcott.  After  reading  it,  we  are  fully  convinced  that 
the  surmise  is  correct-  It  is  written  in  the  truly  delighful  vein  of  her  former 
works,  is  full  of  bits  of  pathos  that  suddenly  move  one  to  tears,  and  also  of  inci¬ 
dents  and  character-studies  that  are  irresistibly  amusing.  —  St.  Louis  Evening 
Post. 

The  lover  of  a  sterling  work  of  fiction  will  read  “  Gemini”  with  a  sentiment 
of  gratitude,  it  is  so  genuine,  honest,  serious,  and  unpretending  in  its  character. 
There  is  little  room  for  doubt  that  it  is  by  one  of  our  most  popular  and  prolific 
authors,  who  has  given  us  a  long  series  of  brilliant  and  fascinating  stories,  that 
have  charmed  equally  the  old  and  the  young.  Her  books  have  generally  more 
gayety  and  buoyant  sprightliness  than  the  present  one,  which  keeps  to  the  minor 
key  throughout ;  but  there  are  none  among  them  all  that  will  be  more  universally 
liked.  Its  subdued,  even  pensive,  tone  exercises  a  strong  power,  stirring  and 

exciting  to  active  sympathy  the  deeper  feelings  of  our  nature.  —  Chicago  Tribune. 

• 

“  Gemini  ”  is  a  genuine  New-England  idyl,  pure  and  sweet,  and  as  natural  as 
it  is  delightful.  The  breath  of  the  country  blows  through  it,  and  the  thrice-blessed 
reader  whose  childhood  was  passed  among  green  fields,  and  who  remembers  the 
scent  of  the  woods,  the  song  of  the  birds,  and  the  feel  of  the  wind,  will  welcome 
it  as  a  remembrancer  of  all  of  them.  It  is  not  a  novel.  It  is  a  narrative,  so  sim¬ 
ply  and  plainly  told,  that  one  almost  f-eels  it  to  be  real.  There  is  in  it  no  straining 
for  effect,  no  attempt  at  the  construction  of  a  plot.  The  whole  interest  is  centred 
in  a  single  family  of  a  little  out-of-the-way  mountain  community  ,  and  so  intense 
does  that  interest  become,  that,  when  the  book  is  finished  and  laid  aside,  the 
characters  follow  the  reader  like  people  he  has  met  and  known.  The  story  is  not 
so  brilliant  as  “  Kismet,”  nor  so  deeply  analytical  as  “Mercy  Philbrick  but  as 
a  study  of  real  life,  and  as  an  excitant  of  human  sympathy,  it  is  better  and  more 
powerful  than  ei.lier.  —  Boston  Transcript. 

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not  to  be  found ,  send  directly  to 

ROBERTS  BROTHERS,  Publishers, 


BOSTON. 


THE  “ NO  NAME  SERIES'.' 


MASQUE  OF  POETS. 


Curiosity  is  a  trait  of  human  nature  on  which  it  is  always  safe  to  count.  It 
would,  perhaps,  be  no  difficult  task  to  show  that  it  is  the  only  trait  universal  to 
our  race.  Do  not  both  theology  and  science  date  their  schemes  and  their  theories 
from  its  subtle  and  instructive  workings?  Were  not  Eve  and  Sir  Isaac  Newton 
alike  resolute  inquirers  into  the  properties  of  apples? 

The  Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers  were  very  safe  in  their  venture  of  the  “  No 
Name  Series,”  which  appealed  directly  to  this  master-passion  of  the  mind. 
Ninety-nine  people  out  of  a  hundred  would  be  more  interested  in  wondering  and 
finding  out  who  wrote  any  given  story,  if  the  authorship  were  concealed,  than  they 
would  in  the  story  itself,  and  thus  every  volume  in  the  “ No  Name  Series”  had  a 
double  chance  of  being  read. 

The  last  volume  of  the  series,  ‘‘A  Masque  of  Poets,”  just  published,  is  a  fit¬ 
ting  climax  to  the  long  succession  of  puzzles,  being  itself  simply  a  whole  volume 
full  of  puzzles.  It  is  a  book  of  tantalizing  interest.  If  any  one  had  told  us 
beforehand  that  in  a  volume  containing  poems  from  nearly  all  the  well-known 
American  and  many  of  the  well  known  English  poets  of  to-day,  it  would  be  next 
to  impossible  to  determine  with  any  degree  of  accuracy  the  authorship  of  the 
poems,  the  statement  would  have  seemed  preposterous;  but  such  is  the  fact. 
Here  are  seventy-five  poems,  all  of  them  printed  now  for  the  first  time.  .  .  . 

The  extracts  we  have  quoted  are  amply  sufficient  to  show  the  interesting  vari¬ 
ety  of  this  volume,  and  the  stimulus  to  curiosity  which  it  affords.  There  could 
hardly  be  a  pleasanter  amusement  for  a  knot  of  friends  on  a  winter  evening  than 
to  compare  guesses  as  to  the  authorship  of  these  seventy-five  anonymous  poems. 

“  H.  H.”  in  Denver  Tribune, 


‘‘A  Masque  of  Poets”  includes  an  entire  novelette  in  verse,  — 

“GUY  VERNON,” 

by  one  of  our  most  popular  writers,  of  which  the  Hartford  Courani  says  :  “  It  is 
a  very  clever  performance,  a  good  story,  witty  and  satirical  by  turns,  flowing  along 
easily  in  fine  description  and  argument,  with  pleasing  surprises  in  nearly  every 
stanza.  ‘  Guy  Vernon  ’  is  sufficient  to  float  the  book  buoyantly.” 

One  volume,  lGmo,  cloth.  Price  $1.00. 

- »o* - 

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not  to  be  fou?id,  send  directly  to 

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BOSTON. 


ROBERTS  BROTHERS' 


Catalogue  of  Books, 

SPRING  OF  1879. 


ANNOUNCEMENTS  AND  LATEST  PUBLICATIONS. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  “  ECCE  HO  MOT 

LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF  STEIN: 

Or,  Germany  and  Prussia  in  the  Napoleonic  Age.  By  J.  R. 
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THE  LIFE  OF  J.  M.  W.  TURNER,  R.  A. 

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11 


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m 


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iv 


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v 


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MY  GIRLS,  &c. 

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V] 


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THE  BIBLE  FOR  LEARNERS. 

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• 

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THE  RELIGION  OF  ISRAEL: 

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Jean  Ingelow,  the  noble  English  poet,  second  only  to  Mrs.  Browning,  bends  easily 
and  gracefully  from  the  heights  of  thought  and  fine  imagination  to  commune 
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sorrows;  to  feel  for  their  temptations.  She  is  a  safe  guide  for  the  little  pilgrims; 
for  her  paths,  though  ‘  paths  of  pleasantness,’  lead  straight  upward.” —  Grace 
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and  the  story  of  Jack  is  as  careless  and  joyous,  but  as  delicate,  as  a  picture  of 
child)  )Ov>d. 

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oniy  food  fit  for  the  youthful  xaiud.”  —  Eclectic. 


Sold  everywhere  Mailed ,  postpaid,  by  the  Publishers. 


ROBERTS  BROTHERS,  Boston. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers  Publications. 


THE  RELIGION  OF  ISRAEL. 

A  MANUAL. 

Translated  from  the  Dutch  of  J.  Knappert,  Pastor  of  Leiden. 
By  Richard  Armstrong,  B.  A. 
i6mo.  Price  #1.00. 


From  the  Boston  Daily  A  dvertiser. 

Its  purpose  is  to  give  a  faithful  and  accurate  account  of  the  results  of  modern 
research  into  the  early  development  of  the  Israelitish  religion.  Without  attempt¬ 
ing  to  set  forth  the  facts  and  considerations  by  which  the  most  thorough  and  ac¬ 
complished  scholars  have  reached  their  conclusions  respecting  the  origin  and  date 
of  the  several  books  of  the  Old  Testament,  those  conclusions  are  briefly  stated, 
and  the  gradual  development  of  the  Jewish  form  of  religion  traced  down  to  the 

Christian  era.  ...  ,  .  „  .  ,  , 

The  translator  says  that  there  may  be  those  who  will  be  painfully  startled  by 
some  of  the  statements  which  are  made  in  the  work.  In  his  view,  however,  it  is 
far  better  that  the  young  especially  should  learn  from  those  who  are  friendly  to 
religion  what  is  now  known  of  the  actual  origin  of  the  Scriptures,  rather  than  to 
be  left  in  ignorance  till  they  are  rudely  awakened  by  the  enemies  of  Christianity 
from  a  blind  and  unreasoning  faith  in  the  supernatural  inspiration  of  the  Scriptures. 

From  the  Providence  Journal- 

If  this  Manual  were  not  an  exponent  of  Dutch  theologians  in  high  repute 
among  their  own  countrymen,  and  if  it  were  not  an  expression  of  the  honest  con- 
viction  of  Rev.  J.  Knappert,  the  pastor  of  the  Dutch  Reformed  Church  at  Leiden, 
we  should  feel  inclined  to  pass  it  by,  for  it  is  not  pleasant  to  have  doctrines  and 
facts  rudely  questioned  that  have  been  firmly  held  as  sacred  truths  for  a  lifetime. 
And  yet  one  cannot  read  “  The  Religion  of  Israel  ”  without  feeling  that  the  writer 
is  an  earnest  seeker  after  the  truth,  and  has  carefully  weighed  and  diligently  exam¬ 
ined  the  premises  on  which  his  arguments  are  based,  and  the  conclusions  which  he 
presents  as  the  result  of  his  researches.  ...  .  . 

The  book  is  one  of  singular  and  stirring  interest :  it  speaks  with  an  air  of  au¬ 
thority  that  will  command  attention ;  and,  though  it  ruthlessly  transforms  time- 
honored  beliefs  into  myths  and  poetic  allegories,  it  makes  its  bold  attacks  with  a 
reverent  hand,  and  an  evident  desire  to  present  the  truth  and  nothing  but  the 
truth. 

From  the  Boston  Christian  Register. 

9 

Here  we  have,  for  a  dollar,  just  what  many  liberal  Sunday  schools  are  praying 
for,  __a  book  which  gives  in  a  compact  form  the  conclusions  of  the  “advanced 
scholarship”  concerning  the  Old  Testament  record.  Taking  Kuenen’s  great 
“  History  of  Israel”  for  a  guide,  Dr.  Knappert  has  outlined  what  may  be  called 
the  reverently  rational  view  of  that  religious  literature  and  development  which  led 
up  to  “the  fulness  of  times,”  or  the  beginning  of  Christianity. 

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Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers  Publications. 


PHILOCHRISTUS  : 

MEMOIRS  OF  A  DISCIPLE  OF  THE  LORD. 

Second  and  Cheaper  Edition.  Price  $1.50. 


- - 

From  Harper' s  Magazine. 

“  Philochristus  ”  is  a  very  unique  book,  both  in  its  literary  and  its  theological 
aspects.  It  purports  to  be  the  memoirs  of  a  disciple  of  Jesus  Christ,  written 
ten  years  after  the  destruction  of  Jerusalem.  .  .  .  Artistically,  the  book  is  nearly 
faultless.  In  form  a  romance,  it  has  not  the  faults  which  have  rendered  the  Gos¬ 
pel  romances  such  wretched  works  of  art.  It  is  characterized  by  simplicity  in 
expression  and  by  an  air  of  historic  genuineness.  .  .  .  Theologically,  it  is  char¬ 
acteristic  of  the  era.  It  belongs  to  no  recognized  school  of  theology.  The 
critics  do  not  know  what  to  make  of  it.  In  this  Respect,  it  reminds  one  of  “  Ecce 
Homo.”  It  is  not  Orthodox,  .  .  .  yet  he  throughout  recognizes  Christ  as  in 
a  true  sense  the  manifestation  of  God  in  the  flesh.  .  .  .  Those  who  are  inclined 
to  dread  any  presentation  of  the  life  and  character  of  Christ  which  does  not 
openly  and  clearly  recognize  the  old  philosophy  respecting  him  will  look  on 
this  book  with  suspicion,  if  not  with  aversion.  Those  who  are  ready  to  welcome 
fresh  studies  into  this  character  will  find  a  peculiar  charm  in  this  singular  volume. 

From  the  Contemporary  Review . 

The  winning  beauty  of  this  book,  and  the  fascinating  power  with  which  the 
subject  of  it  appears  to  all  English  minds,  will  secure. for  it  many  readers.  It  is  a 
work  which  ranks  rather  with  “  Ecce  Homo”  than  with  Canon  Farrar’s  ‘‘Life 
of  Christ.”  It  is  associated,  indeed,  with  the  former  book  by  the  dedication: 
“To  the  author  of  ‘  Ecce  Homo,’  not  more  in  admiration  of  his  writings  than  in 
gratitude  for  the  suggestive  influence  of  a  long  and  intimate  friendship.” 

From  the  Christian  Register. 

Since  “  Ecce  Homo,”  no  religious  book  has  appeared  which  can  be  compared 
with  “Philochristus”  for  its  power  to  nourish  and  deepen  the  interest  felt  by 
multitudes  in  the  life  and  spirit  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth. 

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ABBOTT'S 


PARAGRAPH  HISTORIES. 


A  Paragraph  History  of  the  United  States  from  the 
Discovery  of  the  Continent  to  the  Present  Time.  With* 
Brief  Notes  on  Contemporaneous  Events.  Chronologically  ar¬ 
ranged.  By  Edward  Abbott.  Square  i8mo.  Cloth.  50  cents. 

“  As  an  aid  to  students,  the  book  seems  excellently  adapted.”  —  Gazette. 

“We  recommend  it  as  the  first  history  to  be  used  in  our  public  and  private 
schools.” — Philadelphia  Press. 

“  It  will  be  admirable  for  reviews  and  examinations  in  our  high  schools  antf 
academies.  We  heartily  commend  it  to  our  teachers.”  — Zion' s  Herald. 

“  The  design  is  good,  the  performance  good,  and  the  work  will  be  found  very 
useful  to  beginners  and  convenient  to  advanced  students  in  history.”  — Philadel¬ 
phia  North  A  merican. 

“  The  facts  are  accurate,  and  as  a  guide-book  it  will  be  found  one  of  the  best 
in  the  country.  We  cordially  commend  it  to  schools.  Children  will  learn  more 
from  this  book  in  a  day  than  from  a  larger  one  in  a  month.”  —  Philadelphia 
City  Item. 

A  Paragraph  History  of  the  American  Revolution. 
By  Edward  Abbott.  i8mo.  Cloth.  Price  50  cents. 

Here  is  the  whole  story  of  the  American  Revolution  in  its  briefest  form,  in 
a  neat,  handy  volume  w'ith  maps  and  index.  To  be  brief  about  it,  it  comprises 
a  history  of  the  colonial  difficulties  and  struggles  in  so  small  a  space  as  to  make 
the  whole  story  retainable.  The  author  has  worked  up  admirably  to  his  plan; 
viz.,  to*write  “for  those  who  have  never  read  a  history  proper,  or  who  have 
heard  only  by  chance  of  what  our  country’s  fathers  did,  and  in  these  busy  times 
have  only  moments  by  the  way  in  which  to  trace  the  outline.”  It  is  a  little 
volume,  also,  that  will  be  especially  valuable  in  schools.  The  appendix  con¬ 
tains  among  other  interesting  items  a  list  of  the  more  important  works  relating  to 
the  Revolution ;  and  an  index  adds  to  the  value  of  the  book,  which  is  an  actual 
need  in  these  days. 


ON  THE  RIGHT  USE  OF  BOOKS 


A  Lecture.  By  William  P.  Atkinson,  Professor  of  Eng¬ 
lish  and  History  in  the  Massachusetts  Institute  of  Technology. 
l6mo.  Cloth.  Price  50  cents. 

“  Full  of  good  sense?  sound  taste,  and  quiet  humor.  ...  It  is  the  easiest  thing 
in  the  world  to  waste  time  over  books,  which  are  merely  tools  of  knowledge  like 
any  other  tools.  ...  It  is  the  function  of  a  good  book  not  only  to  fructify,  but 
to  inspire,  not  only  to  fill  the  memory  with  evanescent  treasures,  but  to  enrich 
the  imagination  with  forms  of  beauty  and  goodness  which  leave  a  lasting  impres¬ 
sion  on  the  character.”  — N.  Y.  Tribune . 

“  Contains  so  many  wise  suggestions  concerning  methods  in  study  and  so 
excellent  a  summary  of  the  nature  and  principles  of  a  really  liberal  education  that 
it  well  deserves  publication  for  the  benefit  of  the  reading  public.  Though  it 
makes  only  a  slight  volume,  its  quality  in  thought  and  style  is  so  admirable  that 
all  who  are  interested  in  the  subject  of  good  education  will  give  to  it  a  prominent 
and  honorable  position  among  the  many  books  upon  education  which  have 
recently  been  published.  For  it  takes  only  a  brief  reading  to  perceive  that  in 
this  single  lecture  the  results  of  wide  experience  in  teaching  and  of  long  study  of 
the  true  principles  of  education  are  generalized  and  presented  in  a  tew  pages, 
each  one  of  which  contains  so  much  that  it  might  be  easily  expanded  into  an 
excellent  chapter.”  —  The  Library  Table. 


By  Ernest  Legouve,  of  the  Academie  Fran$aise.  Trans¬ 
lated  from  the  Ninth  Edition  by  Abby  Langdon  Alger.  i6mo. 
Cloth.  50  cents. 


( Dedication. ) 


TO  THE  SCHOLARS  OF  THE  HIGH  AND  NORMAL  SCHOOL. 


For  you  this  sketch  was  written:  permit  me  to  dedicate  it  to  you;  in  fact, 
to  intrust  it  to  your  care.  Pupils  to-day,  to-morrow  you  will  be  teachers ;  to-  ' 
morrow,  generation  after  generation  of  youth  will  pass  through  your  guardian 
hands.  An  idea  received  by  you  must  of  necessity  reach  thousands  of  minds. 
Help  me,  then,  to  spread  abroad  the  work  in  which  you  have  some  share,  and 
allow  me  to  add  to  the  great  pleasure  of  having  numbered  you  among  my  he;irers 
tli e  still  greater  happiness  of  calling  you  my  assistants.  E.  Legouve'. 

We  commend  this  valuable  little  book  to  the  attention  of  teachers  and  others 
interested  in  the  instruction  of  the  pupils  of  our  public  schools.  It  treats  of  the 
“First  Steps”  in  reading,  “Learning  to  Read,”  “  Should  we  read  as  we  talk,” 
“The  Use  and  Management  of  the  Voice,”  “The  Art  of  Breathing,”  “  Pronuncia¬ 
tion,”  “  Stuttering,”  “Punctuation,”  “  Readers  and  Speakers,”  “  Reading  as  a 
Means  of  Criticism,”  “On  Reading  Poetry,”  &c-,  and  makes  a  strong  claim  as 
to  the  value  of  reading  aloud,  as  being  the  most  wholesome  of  gymnastics,  for  to 
strengthen  the  voice  is  tc  strengthen  the  whole  system  and  develop  vocal  power. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications . 


Wild  Life  in  a  Southern  County. 

By  the  Author  of  “  The  Gamekeeper  at  HoME.,, 
i6mo.  Cloth.  Price  $1.25. 

From,  the  London  Athenceum ,  March  i,  1879. 

“  The  author  of  4  The  Gamekeeper  at  Home  ’  has  given  us  a  volume  which  is 
worthy  of  a  place  beside  White’s  ‘  Selborne.’  Not,  of  course,  that  his  style  is 
equal  to  that  of  his  fascinating  prototype  (to  say  the  truth,  the  Gamekeeper’s  style 
is  the  least  noticeable  feature  of  his  book) ;  but  in  the  essentials  of  a  book  of 
this  kind — in  that  closeness  of  observation  which  is  born  of  the  loving  eye;  in 
the  power  of  giving,  by  an  instinctive  selection  of  physiognomic  details,  a  picture 
far  beyond  the  efforts  of  the  mere  word-painter,  who  has  to  rely  solely  upon  the 
cumulative  process  so  much  now  in  vogue  —  he  is  the  equal  of  the  Selborne  rector, 
perhaps  his  superior.  The  author’s  observation  of  man  is  as  close  and  as  true  as 
his  observation  of  the  lower  animals.  For  instance,  lie  describes  the  farmers 
driving  to  market,  and  as  they  go  along  the  high-road,  glancing  up  the  furrows  to 
note  how  they  are  ploughed,  and  to  look  for  game,  4  You  may  tell  from  a  distance 
if  they  espy  a  hare,  by  the  check  pt  the  rein,  and  the  extended  hand  pointing.’ 
Yet  his  deepest  affection  is  for  the  lower  animals,  as  is  mostly  the  case  with  those 
who  know  them  best. 

“  To  those  who  love  Nature  in  her  sweetest  moods,  —  that  is  to  say,  basking  on 
soft  hills,  and  slumbering  in  the  green  valleys  of  England,  —  this  is  a  book  to  read 
and  to  treasure.” 

From  the  London  Saturday  Review. 

“  *  Wild  Life  in  a  Southern  County  ’  is  perhaps  even  a  more  delightful  book 
than  ‘The  Gamekeeper  at  Home.’  The  author  is  at  once  the  closest  and  the 
most  catholic  of  observers.  It  seems  evident  that  he  must  have  been  bred  up  as 
a  boy  in  that  out-of-the-world  neighborhood  which  he  describes  so  vividly.  He 
must  surely  have  lived  the  life  of  the  farm-house,  and  mixed  with  the  easy  famil¬ 
iarity  of  boyhood  among  the  farmers  and  their  shepherds  and  laborers.  ...  It  is 
difficult  to  give  more  than  the  vaguest  idea  of  a  volume  so  full  of  entertaining  mat¬ 
ter.  It  might  be  defined  as  a  mttltum  in  parvo  Encyclopaedia  of  country  sights 
and  country  matters.  .  .  .  Open  the  book  where  you  may,  you  cannot  fail  to  find 
something  attractive;  and  as  it  is  impossible  to  do  it  reasonable  justice  in  a  review, 
we  can  only  recommend  our  readers  to  procure  it.” 

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By  the  same  Author. 

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THE  GAMEKEEPER  AT  HOME.  Sketches 
of  Natural  History  and  Rural  Life.  Third  Edition. 
i2mo.  Cloth.  Price  $1.50. 

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that  his  facts  have  been  gathered  from  personal  observation.  This  is 
so  obvious  from  every  page  that,  excepting  the  ‘  Natural  History  of 
Selbome,’  we  remember  nothing  that  has  impressed  us  so  certainly 
with  the  conviction  of  a  minute  and  vivid  exactness.  The  lover  of  the 
country  can  hardly  fail  to  be  fascinated  wherever  he  may  happen  to 
open  the  pages.  It  is  a  book  to  be  read  and  kept  for  reference,  and 
should  be  on  the  shelves  of  every  country  gentleman’s  library.”  — 
The  London  Saturday  Review . 


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THE  NO  NAME  (SECOND)  SERIES. 

Signor  Monaldinis  Niece. 

Extracts  from  some  Opinions  by  well-knowit  Authors. 

“We  have  read  ‘Signor  Monaldini’s  Niece'  with  intensest 
interest  and  delight.  The  style  is  finished  and  elegant,  the  at¬ 
mosphere  of  the  book  is  enchanting.  We  seem  to  have  lived  in 
Italy  while  we  were  reading  it.  The  author  has  delineated  with  a 
hand  as  steady  as  it  is  powerful  and  skilful  some  phases  of  human 
life  and  experience  that  authors  rarely  dare  attempt,  and  with 
marvellous  success.  We  think  this  volume  by  far  the  finest  of 
the  No  Name  Series." 

“  It  is  a  delicious  story.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  to  Italy  and 
knew  all  the  people.  .  .  .  Miss  Conroy  is  a  strong  character,  and 
her  flagedy  is  a  fine  background  for  the  brightness  of  the  other 
and  higher  natures.  It  is  all  so  dramatic  and  full  of  cdlor  it  goes 
on  like  a  lovely  play  and  leaves  one  out  of  breath  when  the  cur¬ 
tain  falls.” 

“  I  have  re-read  it  with  great  interest,  and  think  as  highly  of  it 
as  ever.  .  .  .  The  characterization  in  it  is  capital,  and  the  talk 
wonderfully  well  done  from  first  to  last.” 

“  The  new  No  Name  is  enchanting.  It  transcends  the  ordinary 
novel  just  as  much  as  a  true  poem  by  a  true  poet  transcends  the 
thousand  and  one  imitations.  ...  It  is  the  episode,  however,  of 
Miss  Conroy  and  Mrs.  Brandon  that  is  really  of  most  importance 
in  this  book.  ...  I  hope  every  woman  who  reads  this  will  be 
tempted  to  read  the  book,  and  that  she  will  in  her  turn  bring  it  to 
the  reading  of  other  women,  especially  if  she  can  find  any  Mrs. 
Brandon  in  her  circle.” 

In  one  volume,  i6mo,  bound  in  green  cloth,  black  and  gilt  let¬ 
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CASTLE  BLAIR: 

A  STORY  OF  YOUTHFUL  DAYS. 

By  FLORA  L.  SHAW. 

i6mo.  Cloth.  Price  $1.00. 

“There  is  quite  a  lovely  little  book  just  come  out  about  children, — 

‘  Castle  Blair !  ’  .  .  .  The  book  is  good,  and  lovely,  and  true,  having  the 
best  description  of  a  noble  child  in  it  (Winnie)  that  I  ever  read ;  and  nearly 
the  best  description  of  the  next  best  thing, — a  noble  dog,”  says  John 
Ruskin,  the  distinguished  art  critic. 

“  1  Castle  Blair,’  a  story  of  youthful  days,  by  Flora  L.  Shaw,  is  an  Irish 
story.  A  charming  young  girl  —  half  French,  half  English  —  comes  from 
France,  at  the  age  of  eighteen,  to  live  with  her  bachelor  uncle  at  Castle 
Blair,  which  is  in  possession  of  five  children  of  an  absent  brother  of  this 
uncle.  The  children  are  in  a  somewhat  wild  and  undisciplined  condition, 
but  they  are  as  interesting  children  as  can  be  imagined,  and  some  of  them 
winning  to  an  extraordinary  degree.  They  are  natural  children,  in  manner 
and  in  talk  ;  but  the  book  differs  from  some  American  books  about  children, 
in  that  it  is  pervaded  by  an  air  of  refinement  and  good-breeding.  The  story  is 
altogether  delightful,  quite  worthy,  from  an  American  point  of  view,  of  all 
Mr.  Ruskin  says  of  it;  and  if  circulation  were  determined  by  merit,  it 
would  speedily  outstrip  a  good  many  now  popular  children’s  books  which 
have  a  vein  of  commonness,  if  not  of  vulgarity.”  —  Hartford  Courant. 

“  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  nothing  more  interesting  or  more  whole¬ 
some  is  offered  this  year  for  older  boys  and  girls.  It  is  a  charming  story, 
in  which  the  author  has  delineated  character  as  carefully,  and  with  as  keen 
an  artistic  sense,  as  if  she  had  been  writing  a  novel.  Her  book  is  a  novel, 
indeed,  with  children  and  the  lives  of  children,  instead  of  men  and  women 
and  their  lives,  for  its  theme.”  — New  York  Evening  Post. 

- ♦ -  > 

Our  publications  are  to  be  had  of  all  Booksellers.  When 
not  to  be  found ,  send  directly  to 

ROBERTS  BROTHERS,  Publishers, 

BOSTON. 


n. 


